#even 1 notification makes my day

[goldenhypen]

i randomly found my old blog again and WOW ,,,, TELL ME WHY IM SAD i even stalked my old moots’ blogs too and i- 😭 the way so many things have changed since then :(

[stairset]

I had Spider-Man 2 mailed to my house when I pre-ordered it and it hasn't arrived yet so I've just been spending my entire day dodging spoilery Youtube thumbnails like Tobey Maguire dodging Green Goblin's razor bats in slo-mo in that one scene.

[joelsdagger]

a love so fine || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

for my girl, @dinandwhiskey, happy belated birthday babe! ily so dearly. massive shout out to my beloveds, @phoeberidgers and @pedrospatch for being my eyes, my brain and my heart, without them, i am equivalent to the tin man (they also keep me sane) <33

pairing: jackson joel x f!reader summary: an evening in with your husband helps to quiet the brain noise.  warnings: jackson era [around tlou part ii timeline], canon divergent [golfing doesn’t happen and everyone is happy and thriving bc i said so], implied age gap [no specific age for reader but joel is late 50’s], established relationship, HUSBAND joel, DOMESTIC JOEL, sickly-sweet fluff, reader can’t cook [i swear i can], pet names [baby, sweet baby, darlin’, (1) use of the word kiddo, an excessive amount of the use of the word “baby” bc i can’t seem to help myself], JOEL IN A THIGH HOLSTER, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, biiiiiiig breeding kink [ruh roh], joel says dagum bc he’s old, hint of a mama kink, praise kink, (1) (2) (3) uses of the word “daddy”, smidgen of begging + teasing, a bit of mocking, angst in the form of internal turmoil [duh it’s me what did you expect], feelings of inadequacy + guilt/shame, hurt/comfort, tinge of sex as a coping mechanism, soft emotional smut, finger sucking, oral [m!receiving], cock and ball worship [girl’s got a big oral fixation let her live], hand kink, blink and you miss subby!joel, switch reader, hint of dacryphilia, gentle–turned–semi–rough sex, soft dom!joel, mean!joel [but the sexy kind], prone bone, doggy style, hair pulling, light spanking, creampie, size kink [joel is huuuge and big and strong and at one point lifts reader onto a counter], & reader has hair long enough to grab. word count: 6.4k dividers by @saradika-graphics

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs!!

gorgeous moodboard by @here-briefly

Cold air whimpers into the house as Joel steps through the front door when you’re pulling the semi-burnt meat pies out of the oven, the cold nip blanketed by the heat emanating from the cavity. You set them aside, and turn your attention to the pot of soup on the burner, your mom’s old family recipe, when you’re greeted by Joel’s figure materializing behind you. Broad palms splay across the expanse of your back, big, thick arms wrapping around your middle, shivering at the cold bite of his cheek against yours. You sink into his embrace, allowing him to feed off of your warmth.  

“Was patrol okay?” you ask, unfocused as your eyes scan over the creased paper for what feels like the hundredth time in the last two hours. 

His chin dips. Snow dusts from his head onto your shoulder. “Was fine. Couple of stragglers. Took care of them,” scruff of his face scratches at your neck as he nuzzles into your skin. “You’re home early.”   

You hum, your free hand drifts to meet his.“Surprisingly slow day at the clinic. Closed up by six, the staff booked it to the bar afterward.” You tilt your head to rest against his, basking in the crisp scent of snow, pine, and gunpowder on him, one you’ve come to recognize as home. 

“Y’didn’t wanna go with them?” he asks, thumb stroking over your stomach. 

“Nah, the clinic kicked me on my ass today. Wanted to come home, make somethin’ nice for us,” you say, reaching over the stovetop, turning the rusted knob up a few notches, flame sizzling beneath the pot.   

“Already got my something nice,” he purrs, dips his nose into your hair, reveling in the scent of your shampoo as he presses two kisses in quick succession to your temple, broad hands retreating and sneaking into your jean pockets over your ass, squeezing as he leans in to nip at your carotid.

You shrug him off in jest. “Alright, slow your roll, cowboy. You’re pulling my focus here.” His chest rumbles with a laugh against you.  

“This one’s still giving you trouble, huh?” his lips pressed up against the shell of your ear as he peers over your shoulder.  

You set the wooden spoon aside, opting to let the broth simmer, flavors marry that way. “I just don’t get how she did it. I’ve tried it about a million times. It never comes out right,” you sigh exasperatedly.

He chuckles. “Honey, you’ve been cooking all of what? Five seconds? This recipe’s been in your family for years. Cut yourself some slack here, baby.” He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. 

You can’t help rolling your eyes because this isn’t your first attempt. You’re exhausted and hungry, and you know Joel is too. You’re more than capable at work, cleaning up blood from surface wounds, expertly wrapping the occasional tourniquet, extracting bullets lodged in patrollers without even blinking. But in this slice of your life, you know you could be doing more. 

He doesn’t hesitate, head wobbles a bit, right shoulder tips, “I know it’s a lot to ask of ya,” he says softly. 

You huff slightly. “Alright, alright, enough,” sparing him a quick glance, picking up the spoon again. 

“Give it here,” he attempts, fingers motioning to hand over the spoon. You scold him in turn, reluctant to seek his help, something else you seem unable to forgo despite the world going to shit. 

“Alright,” he starts, as he moves to wrap his strong arms around your waist. “You. Sit here,” he sets you down on the countertop beside the stove. 

“Joooeeel,” you protest and begin shifting your weight in readiness to hop off the countertop.  

“Nah–” Joel puts his palm up, intercepting your movements. 

You roll your eyes but don’t fight him again, fingers curl under the countertop, legs dangling from the edge as you watch him swirl the wooden spoon in the soup. You bite your lip, a knot curling in your chest. Domesticity is a nice look on him. You often tell him as much, but this time you don’t. “Oh – don’t tell me you can cook now. Much less my own family recipe. You can do everything else, can I have this one damn thing.” 

His eyes crinkle at the corners, and mouth tugs up. “Says the doctor who spends all her time fixin’ up everyone else in this town. Could probably do it in your sleep.” He spoons the soup, pinching a sliced carrot in the bowl of the spoon, testing its tenderness. 

“Alright, but if you burn it, we gotta eat at the community hall again.” You lean back, your head resting against the cabinet. 

He lifts the spoon to his lips, eyes closing as he savors the bite and swallows. “You even taste it? ‘Cause it’s pretty darn good, sweetheart.”

When you don’t respond, he dips his index finger into the pot, strides over to you, and slants himself in between your legs. He taps the bottom of your lip. “Open up,” he commands softly.

You do as he says and close your lips around the digit and hum.

A balanced blend of rich sweetness and delicious saltiness with a hint of tang on the finish dances on your taste buds.

He’s right; it’s pretty good. But you don’t revel in it. Your mind focused on Joel’s lips parting at the sight, his eyes trained on your lips around his finger. You watch him, your lips curving into a smirk as he removes his index finger, swiped clean, and replaces it with his thumb, pushing past your lips and onto your tongue. 

One of your hands instinctively reaches up to wrap around his wrist, his head dips slightly lower, lips only a hairsbreadth from yours, woodsy-salty taste of him and the heat from the burner melding together, clouding your mind. You feel the hitch in his breath against your lips, black slowly taking up the hazel hues in his eyes as they stay trained on your mouth, sucking his thumb. 

“Good girl,” he whispers softly, almost casually. 

You preen at his praise. Teeth barely grazing the pad of his thumb. You can feel the bulge against your belly, sitting firm between layers and layers of clothing, growing more and more evident with every passing second his thumb stays pressed into your mouth. 

You release his thumb with a soft pop, biting back a grin, your hand reaching up to card your fingers through his too-long hair, “tastes good.” 

You both know you’re not just talking about the soup. 

You tuck a curl behind his ear. The corner of his mouth tugs up, and his thumb traces the shape of your lips, lustful eyes focused on yours as his soft lips envelop yours, the hairs of his mustache tickling your face. You giggle into his mouth. Then both his hands cradle your face, the metal of his wedding band bitingly cold against your cheek, you shiver. 

Your finger hooks into the holster on his thigh, drawing him in, grinning when you feel the tightness behind his jeans, rock solid, and throbbing. You grind upwards, rolling your clothed cunt against his bulge, a deep groan pours from his mouth into yours. Arousal clouds your senses as you fuse your body to his, nails digging into the leather of his strap, lungs fighting for air between heavy pants until—

A loud sputtering sound from beside you forces you apart, and your heads dart towards the stove. 

Shit shit shit. 

You hastily hop down from the counter, lunging for the knob, your other hand simultaneously pulling the pot off the burner.

You let out a sigh of relief, “Thank God. It’s not burnt. Think it’s ready if you wanna eat now, or do you wanna run through the shower first?” you ask over your shoulder.  

Joel huffs out a quiet laugh, places a firm hand on the small of your back as he reaches for the tethered cabinet above your head, “let’s eat darlin.’”

—

You’d been glancing to and fro between your sketchbook and Joel propped up beside you with a book in bed for the last fifteen or so minutes. The soft glow from the lamp on the nightstand to your left, capturing his features just right for you to doodle them as accurately as you can.

His post shower hair combed back into soft waves, tucked behind his ears and down his neck. It’s getting quite long; curls threaten to slip into the collar of his sleep shirt. He’s long overdue for a trim really, but you love it this way. He won’t admit it, and you won’t remind him, so it stays. 

A thin pair of old rimless reading glasses are perched on the scarred bridge of his nose. He’s got his free hand stretched out and resting on the top of your thigh beneath the covers, thumb slowly stroking your skin — always needing to touch you. The hour is quiet. Peaceful. You could stay like this forever with him; bellies full and freshly showered, in bed before ten. If he’ll still have you.  

His other hand props up the book holding his attention. An Idiot’s Guide to Space, reads the broken purple spine. The book so small in his big hands. Heat blooms in your chest for the second time, the first when he pulled it out of his nightstand an hour prior. Something he does at the end of each night. 

Joel found it on patrol one morning. He kept it to himself at first, tucked away in his top drawer, until you stumbled upon it while putting his folded clothes away. A freshly showered Joel emerged from the bathroom, Ellie’s always goin’ on and on about space. Ain’t got a damn clue about any of it, he admitted shyly. 

Sometimes he’ll blurt out a fact or two while you’re in bed or padding out of the bathroom. His voice cutting through your reverie –

“Baby, says here you could cross the damn Milky Way in twelve fuckin’ years. Did you know that?” he chances a glance at you.

You chuckle at him. “Yes, I did know that, baby,” shaking your head a little. 

“Shit. So it’s just me with the two of you experts?” he asks with a laugh.

You smile to yourself. You don’t tell him that Ellie's the one who told you that little tidbit. 

You tuck your pen between the pages and close your sketchbook, laying it on the small table beside you, “We’ll get you there someday, baby,” you tease. 

Joel snorts, reaching for your arm and tucking you into his side. You rest your head on his chest, his fingertips softly brushing the skin of your arm. “Quit yankin’ my chain, ‘cause baby, you got no idea what you’re playin’ at.”

Oh. But you do. 

You peer up at him, studying the hard lines in his face and the soft gray shadows under his eyes from exhaustion, too much violence.  

You shift to dip your head lower down the curve of his belly. Your hand traces a line down his middle, following the thickening trail of hair down his supple belly, slipping beneath the covers, fingertips grazing the outline of his length over gray sweats, hand cupping his semi-hard cock.

Joel flinches, glasses jolt. It spurs you on. 

You palm him through his pants, and he hisses through clenched teeth. 

“Whaddya doin’ down there, kiddo?” he asks tersely, his gaze lifting over the top of his glasses.

Heat rises to your cheeks. That damn pet name. One that he uses more often these days, when you’re being a pain in his ass. The one that reminds you just how much older he is.

Liquid heat pools between your thighs. 

You gaze up at him, “I just wanna play with him a little. Is that okay?” Falsely innocent eyes sparkling, your fingers circling the head of his cock over his pants. 

He makes a low sound, and stirs. “Darlin’ if I ever say no to you, you take my revolver n’ use it on me.” A hint of playfulness in his tone.  

You giggle softly. “As fun as that would be, cowboy, that’d deprive me of my happiness,” fingers pulling the blanket and his sweats down in one fluid motion, revealing his hardening cock. 

Deft fingers now stroking through your hair. “Lemme guess. That happiness got more to do with my dick than anythin’ else?” he asks, lips curling with a soft laugh. 

You don’t respond, you suspect the smirk that quirks your lips is answer enough for him. Your head dips lower; grabbing the full length of him in both of your hands — so fucking big. Your lips close around the wide head, and you hum. 

He rests the book on his stomach, tucks an arm behind his head, and watches you as you get to work on his length. You pull your lips off him. “You want me to continue? You better keep readin’ that book of yours, Miller,” you say firmly.

A blush creeps up his thick neck; watch as his Adam’s apple bops in his throat. “Yes, ma’am,” raising the book again and continuing where he left off. 

Satisfied, you shift to move down the mattress, the sheets moving with you and bunching at the foot of the bed. 

Your mouth gets back to work on his cock, now fully stiff in your grasp, head swollen and flushed red. Your lips curling around it, your other hand wrapped around the base, fingers barely wrapping around the thick girth of him. You lathe a wet kiss to the tip, and then suction the mushroom shape of him hard, an obscene sound filling the quiet of your bedroom. The heavy weight of him pulses and leaks onto the pink softness of your tongue. You lap up the salty precum leaking at the slit and in your periphery, catch Joel fisting the corner of your pillow. He’s panting, shaky breaths escape him while he attempts to read. You smirk around him. He likes it like this; slow, lazy – sloppy. 

Your gaze drops back down as you pull off him and dip your head down to his low-hanging balls, heavy and already set to burst. You take one in your mouth, the tip of your tongue slowly draws circles along the thin, stretchy flesh, while your other hand slowly pumps the long length of him. You feel a strong hand meeting the back of your skull, fingers sewn through the strands of your hair, his muscles beneath you tightening.

You feel the heat of his gaze, almost impossible to ignore, it urges you on. Your other hand cups his other ball, gently fondling the heavy weight of it, fingers gently twiddling the skin. You suckle softly at his sac, eliciting a strained whimper from Joel, his hips cant upwards, cock twitching in your face.

“Fuckin’ love them,” you whisper, turning your attention to the other, laying a soft kiss on the underside of his ball. That one is just for you. 

“Yeah?” he exhales. “Keep goin’ then, baby,” fingers curling around the back of your neck, instructing you with the faintest bit of pressure. 

Your eyes glance up in time to find him dragging his other hand down his face, book now stacked haphazardly upon the others on his side table. His glasses sit low on the tip of his nose, eyes shut tight, dark brows pinched. All his features meld together in pleasure as he loses himself in you.

You asked him to continue reading but you can’t deny this is what you wanted all along. He looks beautiful like this; in the soft golden glow in the bedroom, tan sun-freckled skin all bare for you, mouth ajar and chest heaving with ragged breaths, veins in his neck thick and prominent as his chin tilts upward. The sight makes you ache. 

You never minded this. Matter of fact, you love it. Giving. Taking care of him, encouraging him to chase after something he wants. You never used to enjoy it before but Joel Miller so rarely takes. So rarely selfish. And seeing strong, stoic men, your man, come apart for you just from your mouth makes you rub your thighs together to soothe the brimming ache. 

Joel Miller – the man who despite the kinder, slower years spent in Jackson and never once hesitating to lend a hand to those in need, who still had a mean reputation, allowing himself to revel in the feeling of you taking care of him. The hard lines of his usual scowl gone from his face and replaced with twisted lines of pleasure. Letting himself take take take and being shameless in doing so.

You suck hard on the ball in your mouth and he moans loudly, feel it draw up between your lips. “Oh – fuck – that’s good,” his head topples back against the headboard with a hard thud, “so good,” he breathes. 

Your clothed core tightens, feel the ruined material cling to your lips. 

And because you can. You pull off him and give the head of his cock a little wet kiss. 

You blink up at him to find him watching you with bated breath, hazel eyes blown completely black. You gather saliva beneath your tongue, let a strand drool, and land directly on his slit. Joel’s entire body shivers, hips thrusting upwards into the air on instinct, his fingers in your hair tighten, blunt fingertips digging into your heated skin. “Dagum you’re good at that, baby.”

You smile and pump the length of him slowly, twisting upwards and running your thumb over his tip. Your mouth retakes its place on his length, lips stretching open around the bulbous head as you ease your head lower and lower on his length, pushing him in, in, in past your gag reflex. Tears prick at your eyes, pushing him in until his cock coaxes the back of your throat; you gag around him, and Joel groans raggedly at the sound. He loves it. You lift your head and hum around him as you begin bopping your head up and down the length of him, your fist pumps what you can’t fit into your mouth. And Joel whimpers, and jerks, hips canting to meet every bob and every stroke, every lick and every kiss.  

A tear cascades down your cheek when you swallow, the silken walls of your throat tighten around him, and at that, Joel makes a pained noise. “Get up here,” he growls, his hand drawing your mouth off him. 

You prop yourself up, shove up his shirt to lay wet kisses up the trail of his graying hair. Your mouth dips left of his belly button, pecking the deep scar, an unwelcome reminder of his fall that nearly ended in fatality.

Your lips press a kiss south of his belly button before you tongue at it. You feel the muscles in his belly quiver beneath the softness of your tongue, goosebumps ghosting his skin, your hand still wrapped around the thick girth of him — it pulses in your grasp. “Fuck– You’re gonna make me come,” he tugs at your neck again, dragging you up to straddle his lap.

“That’s kind of the point here, baby,” you say as you pepper the whiskered corners of his mouth in little kisses. “I wanted you to come in my mouth.” You brush your lips against his, and he chuckles. The hand still at the base of your neck holds you there as his tongue sneaks into your mouth, licks along the line of your gums to taste the salty flavor of himself, you moan in unison. 

He’s still panting when your fingers run through his tousled hair, feeling droplets of sweat at his temple. You kiss at the shadows under his eyes, glasses long forgotten somewhere. Joel’s tongue flicks the corner of his lips, thumbs away the tear beneath your eye then at the thin string of saliva clinging to the skin on your chin and he presses another quick peck to your lips, and against your lips.

“You look so goddamn sexy like this,” he whispers softly, before pushing his lips to yours once again. 

You smile against him. “That mean I can continue?” you whisper. 

You feel his lips twitch, he peels your shirt from your body, then his, and then his hands find your hips, swiftly flipping you over, his broad form towering over you. “Got another idea, little mama.”

“Like what daddy,” dropping your voice at the word “daddy”.  You’ve never thought to try the nickname out but you know you’ve plucked a chord when you feel his cock twitch between your bodies and you’re mentally kicking yourself that you’ve waited this long.  

Who knew Joel Miller, at the ripe old age of fifty-nine would realize he had a daddy kink. 

A low growl slips from his lips, “say it again.”

You bite back a grin that threatens to pull over your lips, your chest blooming at the thought of Joel Miller growing so comfortable with you that he’s unashamed in asking you for things that make him feel good. You want nothing more than to give that to him, so you do. 

“What are you gonna do with me, daddy?” you ask, feigning seriousness. 

“Might need to stuff that slutty mouth of yours again,” the amber in his eyes so warm and filled with lust.  

You shrug, exaggerate a sigh, “I wouldn’t complain.”

He shakes his head but you catch the creases around his eyes, feel the low chuckle reverberate through the slats of his ribs. 

“No, you wouldn’t,” he begins and his fingers hook around the waistband of your panties, “but like I said, I’ve got other plans for you tonight.”

“And what exactly do those plans entail, daddy?” you ask, your fingers ghost over his shoulders, up his neck and into his dampened temples. A smirk tugging the corner of your lips at the slow drag of your underwear down your legs. 

He doesn’t answer. His hand cups your mound, feels the sticky wet at your opening, your body jolts at the first fleeting sliver of attention your hungry cunt’s received all night. “Pussy’s this wet all ‘cause you blowin’ me, hm? You like it that much, baby?” He cocks his head, a smug grin plastered on his face. 

A blissful sigh falls from your lips, he encourages you further when he guides the head of his cock to your messy pussy. 

You arch and squirm and moan on instinct, the agonizingly slow drag of his cock through your puffy folds meticulous in measured movements. Your head falls back, fists clenching, pussy fluttering, and Joel just smirks. 

“Yeah she likes that, don’t she?” he asks, his hazel eyes burning into yours.

Your heart falls. A wanton moan slips past your lips. You want to respond. You do. But you can’t ignore that sudden, all too familiar spike of fear beginning to flare in your chest. 

His hand cups your chin almost immediately. Joel knows you all too well. Before you even know it yourself, he sees it in the storms in your eyes, the slight tremble of your fingers, the sudden rapid rise and fall of your chest. Joel’s observant, always functioning on high alert. He’s helped you through moments like this over the years, and both of you thought they were long gone. But the guilt and shame claw their way back tonight, decidedly paying a visit. 

“Hey. Stay with me, honey,” he implores, brows pinching.

Unbidden tears prickle your eyes. Your eyes slip shut. I can’t. You want to say. It’s too much. The sharp blackening teeth of shame sinking into your skin, gnawing a hole low in your belly. How do you tell your husband that even after six years together you’re still afraid to put yourself first. Afraid that if you do, he’ll abandon you just as everybody else has. How do you tell him that even though he’s never shown you he has any intention of doing so, you’ve made yourself believe that he will. That small noise in your brain ugly, rotten. And no matter how hard you try you can never seem to quiet it. How do you tell him that all you want is for him to fuck you. So hard he brings you to tears. To quiet the noise. Stamp out the flame. But you can’t seem to form the words. Can’t bring yourself to tell him and maybe even worse, you still don’t understand why after all these years spent with him. I don’t know how. 

He hinges forward, broad form crowding yours into the mattress, hands find yours beside your head, a soft clink ricochets in your ears when the metal of your wedding bands meet. 

“Talk to me, baby, what is it?” he whispers, his cock still gliding through your lower lips. 

“I–” your stammering cuts off into a soft whine, eyes flittering.   

“What?” He cocks his head, warm breath fanning across your face. 

Your guilt-ridden mind screaming at you to scramble for words. To get him to understand. Little do you know, he does. Has for a long time. Your past often makes you forget. Here. In the now, he reminds you. 

“I can’t–” you sigh when he kisses the corner of your mouth, “Joel– I–”

“I– I– I–” Joel mocks above you. “Can’t use your words cause you’re only thinking of my cock ain’t ya?”

You keen at that, cheeks bloom. He’s right. Only you rarely ask for it. 

“Always want it, but you never ask for it. Been your husband for two years and I still oughta show you I ain’t ever leavin’, is that it?” 

You mewl all petulant and small. 

He reaches to bring your left hand to his mouth, pressing a fleeting kiss to the cold metal of your wedding band. “Y’know m’all yours, sweetheart. Haven’t I shown you?” He presses another kiss to the band. “Or these mean nothin’ to ya?” A hint of smirk passes over his lips as he lays a third kiss to your fingers, your skin ablaze.  

They mean everything to you. He means everything to you. The words die on your tongue but he knows. He’s only teasing you because he needs to hear it, needs to hear that honey sweet giggle to bring you back to him. And although you wish he didn’t have to, you can’t deny that his persistent efforts make you feel just as desirable as the day he slanted his mouth over yours and made you his forever. Long before solemn vows and makeshift wedding venues. Before ratty ‘his and hers’ bath towels and engraved silver bands. He claimed you as his and he as yours and even still, it doesn’t seem to be enough. Your mind slips and the pulp of his forefinger traces down your sternum, follows the line of your stomach, goosebumps rising in its wake. 

“Joel–” you giggle quietly, and his eyes gleam. 

“Ah. There she is,” he says so softly in that honey Texan drawl that makes your stomach fall away. 

His hand flattens, broad palm drifts down the softness of your belly and settles beneath your navel, the cold bite of his wedding finger making you quiver. 

His dark eyes flicker. “How about I really fill you up? Hm?” His hand drifts further south, grips the root of his cock between your bodies, glides the underside of his cock, featherlight, through your swollen lips, the angry red almost purple tip bumps your throbbing clit before he slides it back down through your folds, letting the head catch at your drooling hole. “You wanted to know what I plan on doin’ to ya? M’gettin’ my wife pregnant. Give my sweet baby a baby? Would you like that?” 

The rest of what he wants to say lingers on the tip of his tongue, mulling around in his mouth, show you, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.

Your breath hitches, eyes go wide. Your thoughts are clouded by him. Your belly swelling, carrying your child. His child. Yes. Yes. Yes. You want it. You want it with him. 

You breathe out a desperate moan, “God, yes. Joel. Yes.”

His cock, heavy and thick, still glides through your messy folds, the head of his cock catching, catching, catching at your hole, coating his length in webs of your slick. The sweet sound of your wet echoing loudly in your shared bedroom. 

“That sound like I wanna leave you?” He asks gruffly.

You shake your head vigorously, your hips canting upwards, chasing after him. 

You hiss when his tip bumps your clit. You pout at him. “Joel. You’re being mean–” your words tapering off into a soft sob. 

He laughs at that, presses the incredibly wide head in, then back out and up again, “Not being mean, baby. Just tryna get you outta your head s’all.” And he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like breathing. Your chest swells. He’s right fucking there. Right in front of you. But it seems as if there is no end in sight for the longing you feel for him. 

“You want it? You oughta ask for it nice, sweet baby,” he says simply.

Your pout grows more petulant, but you concede. You’re always the first to let up between the two of you. You’re easy for him that way. 

“Joel, please fuck me. Need you to fuck me, please,” you plead, words slipping into a soft moan.  

His eyes scan your face, feel his lashes flutter against your skin. He lines himself up at the opening of your cunt. “I will. I always fuck you well don’t I?”

You nod numbly, biting your lip and guiltily averting your gaze. Finger tracing up a line up his strong thigh, over his soft belly that protrudes over his still hard cock, circle the scarred tissue on his lower abdomen. 

He takes your hand in his, lays a kiss to your palm before settling it to cradle his own face. “M’gonna fuck you real good, sweetheart. Remind you how good you are for me.” 

You make a soft sound that halts his movements, fingers squeezing his. “I want it hard, Joel,” you say. And he nods in understanding. Always meeting you where you are. There’s no halfway with him. He sits back, gently taps the side of your thigh, turn around. 

You do as silently requested and twist; your stomach and chest meet the sheets, body prone on the mattress — your favorite way of taking him. 

He presses his body weight into you, his entire form enveloping yours while his hand dips south to line himself up. He thrusts forward, moaning in unison as he breaches and stretches you wide, quelling the ache when he fills your cunt in one sharp thrust. He bites your shoulder on instinct, and your eyes pinch shut in response. Joel sets a blistering pace that has your cunt constricting around him. His soft belly is flush to the small of your back, feel the sweat sliding between your bodies, welcome tears spill from your eyes, and the guilt that sat in the pit of your belly turns molten. 

“That’s it, thatta’girl,” he grits into the dampened space behind your ear. 

His words make you clench, and in response, his hand finds the nape of your neck, fingers curling and smothering your face into the mattress, and you practically sing for him in return. Your legs clamp shut, limiting the space he has to fuck into you and he groans so beautifully for you. His hand sneaks around your front, scrubs expertly at your throbbing clit, and your vision begins to blur, fists clutching the linens so tight you’re tearing them. 

“Oh god, Joel,” you cry out, the intense pleasure beginning to overwhelm you. 

“That’s it–fuck–” he grunts, “make–me–so damn–happy, baby–fuck, never—never–known it before you,” Joel rasps, punctuating every word with a sharp thrust.

You mewl and writhe beneath him in tandem, and then his massive hand grips your face, angles it towards him so your lips meet his, his index finger in your mouth, hooked behind the line of your gums to take take take. Your body jolts as his cock kisses your womb on every brutal thrust. 

“Joel, harder, please, harder,” you beg against his lips. So fucking desperate for more. 

He pulls out suddenly; a lewd, wet squelch of gaping emptiness escapes your cunt when it closes around his absence. He takes you with him, collecting you in his arms and moving the two of you up the bed and guiding you to your knees, facing the headboard. His chest fuses to your back again, knuckles brushing the globe of your ass as he parts the flesh to sink into you once more. Your head topples back onto his shoulder, buries his face into the crook of your neck, muffling the guttural moan that elicits from him as you take him deeper.

He lays a harsh slap to your ass, then firmly grips the plush flesh, soothing the sting with a rough squeeze. And then, his right hand finds a home on your hips, dull fingertips digging into your lush flesh. Your head turns, mouth meeting the hinge of his jaw. Your right hand reaches for his scalp, carding a hand through his sweaty curls to pull him closer as you babble breathlessly, fuck–I lo–I love you. I love you, Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel.   

He chants in turn, I love you, baby, my sweet baby. I’m not goin’ anywhere. M’not. I swear it, branding each word with messy kisses to your temple. His left hand interlocks with yours, wedding bands clinking, kissing at the close. Your cunt flutters around him when he recites the same words he groaned into your waiting mouth on your wedding night, God, you’re so good for me. S’ you n’ me sweetheart. You n’ me. Always and forever.

His hand releases your right hip, fingers tangling painfully into your hair at the base of your neck, pulling on the strands to drag your mouth to his. He slants his plush lips to yours, a deep groan pours from his mouth into yours when you squeeze around him. His cock grazes that spongy spot he made his long ago, and your hips push back, meeting him thrust for thrust, wanting more. His thrusts grow harsher, faster, stronger, until pain and pleasure coalesce. The pressure of his massive, unrelenting length battering your wasted cunt makes the room spin, vision waning.  

“Give it to me, baby. Come with me. I got you darlin’,” he chants as he pounds into you. “Let go for me, honey. C’mon. Show me you’re mine. Need to feel this pussy come for me. Let go, Let go.” 

Your walls pulse and Joel moans, low and breathy, something deep in his chest crumbling. You feel his cock jerk inside you, desperate and holding holding holding for you to meet him there. His teeth nip your ear and it’s all it takes for you to fall apart. Your navel tenses, cunt fluttering around his length, as you come with loud broken moans of his name, and he swallows them with deep groans of yours. He breaks, his fist slamming against the oil painting above the bed while he empties himself inside you, his cock spitting his cum at the mouth of your womb.

Your body goes limp against the painting, thighs still trembling against his, his body going lax against yours. Your head drops forward; tacky skin of your forehead meets the sticky surface with a soft thud. Joel groans lowly against your neck, chest heaving as he sears wet kisses to the top of your spine as he comes down.

You stay like that for a while. When Joel’s chest stops heaving, he rolls off you, and when your breathing slowly returns, you flop to the mattress by his side. 

You turn to face him, your chest sticking to his, tacky skin glistening with sweat in the moonlight from the window across the room.  

He cradles the side of your face in his palm, the pad of his thumb wipes away the tears before pressing it into your mouth. You nip at it gently on instinct, and Joel laughs. 

“I don’t got another round in me tonight, baby,” voice throaty and gruff. You giggle and call him an old man.

And he grumbles something that sounds a lot like, m’not that old. To which you quip, whatever you say, grumpy old man. 

Joel scoffs. “Yet you still like suckin’ this old man’s cock, ain’t that right, sweetheart?” His hand tracing a line up and down your spine. 

You hum blissfully. 

A beat passes, and with a smirk on his lips, his hand wanders to your drippy slit, you whine when he dips two fingers inside your cunt — still sore and puffy, still gaping. 

He presses deep, the cold nip of his wedding ring inside your cunt making you jolt. “Thought you said you couldn’t go another round, old man?” You say, a little breathless.

His wicked smirk broadens. “I did. That don’t mean the same for you though.” 

A gush of his cum pours out of you, coating his ring in your joint mess as his fingers pump in and out of your gaping emptiness. 

He grunts and pulls you on top of him. “I said I'd give you a baby, didn’t I? I intend on keepin’ my promise. We oughta make sure it takes”. 

For hours, Joel made no effort to pull out of you. He fucked into your used, wet heat with his fingers. And he didn’t stop. Not until the snowflakes sprinkling outside your window turned into darts of rain that softly pelted against the glass. Not until the swirl of pale gray and muted blue in the sky washed away into a blush of dusty pink and petal violet, the sun splitting the clouds on the horizon, a sliver of sun peeking between the curtains and spilling across worn sheets, shrouding your silhouette in a soft golden light. And maybe just maybe, this time, it’ll finally take. And with it, maybe that flame of fear is snuffed for good. Always and forever.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition)

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus (+ maybe the other MLs!) and an oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, maybe some suggestive language?? will add more tags as the story progresses A/N: This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic! I’m still not sure whether to do the boys in rotation, or just focus on one ML per series. Don’t take my word for it atp tho – I’m not even sure if I can actually finish a series lol.  Also, I’ve had the creative liberty of changing stuff from the actual gameplay here and there. (Except for the self-awareness. That’s most definitely real.) Hope you enjoy~!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue (for the spin-off: click here!)

It’s a quarter past eight and you’re still on your desk working overtime on a Friday night. 

You let out a big sigh, leaning back on your office chair after an unhealthy duration of bad posture from hours of slouching down in front of your computer. There’s nothing ergonomic about the way this job is killing you, and the ache in your lower back can attest to that. 

An irate orange tabby plops himself in front of you, blocking your view of the glaring screen and you figure that it’s time for a break. 

“Me-oow.”

“I know, I know,” You answer tiredly, standing up to dodge a stray paw clawing your way and you hear cracks in three different places that are honestly unbecoming of a woman your age. You haven’t even reached thirty yet, for god’s sake. “I’m a bad mother. But mom also had to skip dinner to make it to the seven PM meeting, so cut me some slack, okay?” 

A high-pitched “meooowr!” is the only response you get; it seems like there’s no excusing late dinner time this time around. 

As much as you’d like to hem and haw and complain, the main reason why you’re still keeping this job is because you can work remotely. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re stuck most days at home working hours past your regular nine to five, having to be on-call around the clock at all times, and that you’ve consumed more sodium than a nitrite victim with the way you live off cup ramen, then, really, it beats working in an office where you’d physically have to clock in and out from exactly nine to five. 

Your right eye twitches. No, I have not fallen in love with the system that exploits me, thank you very much. 

“Here is your Fancy Feast, your highness,” you tell the hungry feline who’s already ignoring the hand that feeds for the bowl full of white fish paté. He eats healthier than you, sure, but you work like this for him to eat like this. The life of a single mom is an uphill battle, but extremely rewarding. 

You raise your hand to pat your son’s head lovingly, aborting the gesture halfway when you hear a warning growl. Alright, tough crowd. 

After nuking a half-eaten takeout box in the microwave and grabbing a cold Bundaberg from the fridge, you hunker down on the “chaise lounge” (see: an old wingback and a rattan ottoman you’ve refurbished as a makeshift seat a few weeks back when you had guests over) for a late meal. 

You barely register the taste of lukewarm rice on your tongue, mouth moving mechanically while your mind runs on autopilot about everything and nothing at the same time. 

Maybe it’s time to check Jobstreet again

Is there like a laundromat near the area that’s open twenty four seven

Eugh, I hate cold peas

What do we feel about Chromakopia? 

I will… die alone

I really need to stock on some fresh produce this weekend—

Ping! 

A notification from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts—and like a well-trained dog pavlov’d into responding, you visibly perk up at the sight of your lock screen lighting up and the familiar banner you’ve already memorized by heart. 

Your Galaxy Explorer rewards are here. Did you put my hotel’s address as the shipping address? 

Ah, just like clockwork. 

You press on it with a quiet, bubbling anticipation, chewing on the plastic spork as you wait impatiently for the silly mobile game that’s been your short respite at intervals—for more than you’d care to admit—to boot up. 

Offhandedly, you wish that the devs would add more variations to the game’s push notifications; more random, personalized stuff like maybe a reminder to drink water, or a fun update about their day. What you’d give–pay–for a: "Less on the overtime, kitten. I miss you,” dialogue from a certain character, but you digress. 

Oh, well. Probably better this way, lest you dig yourself deeper into delusion. 

The game greets you with the usual picturesque view of a silver-haired man sitting cross-legged on a chair, looking all the bit at ease in his signature crimson and white button up. The warm ambience of the Destiny Café at night draws you in, already pulling your attention away from the never-ending stream of thoughts in your brain. 

“Before seeing you, I thought today would be another dull day,“ Sylus comments airily. The way he drawls out the words in that deep timbre of his voice never fails to make your heart flutter – just a teeeensy bit.

“Ever the charmer,” you sigh happily in return, situating yourself more comfortably on the sofa, almost horizontal from how far you’re leaning back on the cushion. “You’re looking awfully normal tonight. What, no pineapple glasses for your favorite girl?” 

Having bypassed the initial cringe of talking to yourself after literal months of gameplay, it almost comes off natural, the banter. You’ve already accepted the fact that you’re crazy about a fictional, pixelated man—what’s pretending to have actual conversations with him gonna do? It’s not as if he actually hears you yap your nonsense; there are worse things in the world than a parasocial attachment to an otome game character. 

Your little jab at the sometimes random addition to his choice of attire earns you a laugh from the man himself—or at least it looks as though it does, making you blink momentarily in surprise. Happy coincidence, I guess.

You shake your head, cracking a smile, then proceed to do the routine of completing the daily agenda and then some. 

It’s tedious business, sure. You’ve dedicated hours upon hours on this game and you’re honestly starting to feel pretty bored with some of the gameplay elements, but you *do* like the ritualistic nature of ticking off the tasks one by one. It’s almost ironic— the way you dutifully do one thing after the other in this game, just to avoid the pile of work that’s waiting for you in real life. 

It’s not as if anything, or anyone’s relying on you to do your daily log-ins, so you suppose it’s due to that lack of pressure as well. 

Pulling yourself away from the five-star Xavier memory card you’ve grinded to level seventy, you stare despondently at the sad little 2 on your remaining energy. The embarrassing amount of materials you lack to ascend the card seem to mock you, even as you exit the Memories window. Another goal for another day, perhaps.

All tasks on the daily agenda are complete, except for one that you’ve always saved for last.

You’re met with a standing Sylus on the game’s home screen, arms crossed and wearing an expression you’d almost describe as impatient, if you didn’t know any better. The sight makes you grin. 

Cheekily, you poke his crotch.

You’re looking forward to getting a playful remark, or if you’re lucky, a blush along with an embarrassed retort about your shamelessness. 

 What you get, however, is a resounding scoff. Your eyes snap back to his face – from, ahem, your prolonged staring at the area below his waist – and you do see the familiar tinge of pink on his cheeks, but what he says in response catches you off-guard.

“You spend that much resource for a card that isn’t mine?” Sylus tsks, both his voice and expression coming across as… affronted? “Kitten, I’m actually hurt.” 

Huh?

You haven’t heard that line from him before. Was there a recent update you weren’t aware of? The man in question then appears to look amused, from the way you’ve been rendered speechless by the unexpected dialogue. 

All at once, you gasp when you realize what the new response means. 

“That’s so smart,” you say giddily. You see Sylus cock his head to the side, synchronously quirking an eyebrow—expectant. “They actually added a feature that lets them know which memory I’ve upgraded last, and make you react to it. Oh, that’s so cool!” 

If you weren’t too busy being excited over what you think is a new update from the game,  you’d see the chagrined look on Sylus’ face. But when you glance back at him, all trace of the emotion is gone before you could notice anything different. 

“Don’t worry, Crow Man. You’re still my favorite,” you assure him, making his mouth tick upwards in a semblance of a smile. He looks pleased all of the sudden, his demeanor shifting into something more relaxed.

Then a pout forms on your face. You crinkle your nose in frustration as you complain, “It’s just really hard to level your cards up at this point. It takes ages and a shit ton of energy just to level you up past seventy five.” Sighing, you add, kind of bitterly, “And I’m too broke to be spending money on growth packs.” 

Checking the time on your phone, you see that you’ve already spent more than an hour on your self-imposed break time and you know that you ought to get back to work soon. With a groan, you pull yourself to sit upright, savoring the last few minutes of free time before you slave off for the rest of the night. 

You’re about to clean up what’s left of dinner when you notice the oddly thoughtful look on Sylus’ face. 

There’s a deep furrow in his brows as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He closes his eyes shut for a few seconds. He's never done that gesture before... Ugh, he looks really hot–

Suddenly, you see a flicker—then a weird, sort of graphic distortion happening in the background. Uh, what??

A beat; then a glitch on the screen. “Ah, shit.” 

The game crashes.

You exhale loudly as the game’s interface goes back to the loading screen, tapping your thumb impatiently as the bar slowly loads to 15%... 50%..... 81%....... 

“Maybe make sure to patch up first before releasing an update next time, jeez—huh?” 

For a quick second, nothing seems to be amiss. But then the first thing you see on the home screen is Sylus’ figure standing before you, wearing an expression one could only describe as a cat that ate the proverbial canary. 

He speaks— and it’s another intro you haven’t heard him say, ever. 

“You should’ve told me sooner, sweetie,” he almost coos the words out, making your eyes bug out in shock. 

“Now, why don’t you go check your–” he pauses, and his mouth moves as if he’s rolling the word out, testing it. “Inventory?” 

Sylus slides his gaze towards the upper left corner of the screen, a coy smirk still ever-present on his face. 

There, you see something you haven’t noticed earlier: two notification badges. One on your mailbox, and another on the Hunter’s Info tab. Bewildered, you press on the mail icon first, despite the insistence for you to start with the latter. 

You see a new message: [For You]

A small gift, to bridge our worlds closer. – S 

Nothing is attached to it. You read it twice, perplexed.  

“You’re quite the contradictorian, aren’t you?” Sylus tuts as soon as you return back to the home screen, his gaze boring into you even when he tilts his head sideways in mock exasperation. “Mmm, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” 

Helplessly, you open your inventory next. 

Your jaw drops. 

“What. The fuck,” You whisper to yourself, voice wavering in disbelief at what you’re seeing, and the sheer amount of what you’re seeing. “This—this can’t be real.” 

You see that all the materials you own, from the bottle of wishes to the ascension crystal boxes, have been multiplied a hundred times over.

And on top of that–

Ninety nine thousand red dias????

You cannot believe how this—this recent… update (or is it a bug? Infold sure isn’t this generous) didn't make the news. Even as someone as uninvolved as you are with the community and the game’s latest releases, something like this for sure would’ve made headlines on Twitter (X), at least. But you haven’t heard anything. Nada. 

Holy shit. 

You feel a little light-headed, both from incredulity and excitement. Needing a moment to calm yourself down, you exit the Inventory tab in a daze.

You stare at Sylus. He stares back at you with what looks to be mirth in his eyes. 

Skeptically, you mutter, “did–did I get hacked or something?” 

Anticipating another unexpected dialogue to prompt up, you wait for a full minute without saying anything else. And for a moment, the man in front of you looks indecisive, contemplative. 

There’s something very odd, very… human in the way he’s looking at you. He looks as if– as if he’s—

His face falls back into a neutral expression. Not unlike how his idle animation usually looks. 

..

…

….. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to initiate a conversation any time soon, so you hesitantly poke him on the nose. 

“Even in the worst-case scenario, there’s no need to panic.”

You’ve heard that one before.

So he’s back to normal now. You temper the small disappointment that blooms in your gut. 

Shaking your head slowly, you try to make sense of all the stuff that just happened, but a sharp bite on your ankle pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Ow–!” The sight of your cat flopping near your feet reminds you of the time. More importantly, the backlogs waiting for you at your desk. 

“Wait, shit– I gotta get back to work.” This… unbelievable stroke of good luck (?) is gonna have to take a backseat for now.

You grab the carton box and the half-empty bottle of sparkling peach as you stand up. Making quick work of throwing the container in the trash and gulping down the rest of your drink, you rush into your room and back in front of your PC. 

Cracking your knuckles, you gingerly set your phone against the monitor. Setting the timer to one hour in Quality Time, knowing fully-well that you’re going to have to keep extending it until the wee hours of the morning—or until your battery dies, whichever comes first—you give Sylus one last look, letting out a long exhale before locking in.

“Just keep me company for the night, alright? I’ll figure out what’s going on once my shift’s over.” 

-

It could just be your overactive imagination, but you swear you hear a quiet chuckle from the man polishing his gun in your peripheral.

[bloodstainedsapphic]

modern!ellie dating app au. for a little monthly au challenge i've tasked myself with. a most awkward first date. fluff. 2.1k words.

you matched with ellie! your eyes widen at the pop-up on your screen. could that be real? some sick, twisted glitch on the app’s end? ellie is—by no exaggeration—the cutest person you've seen on this godforsaken app since you downloaded it. sure, that’s not exactly a bragging right, but it’s true. she stands out like a diamond in a sea of grit and mediocre matchmaking.

so what do you do? of course, you don’t send a message. it’s not like there’s other options, that’s not the lesbian way.

the rest of the day wanes, and your mind drifts to other matters. only occasionally do your thoughts flicker back to ellie’s profile, just sitting there in waiting—her silly question responses, the obligatory guitar photo, how her sage-green eyes must appear even brighter, prettier in person. oh, that’s no good. you need to stifle your expectations. calm down, you remind yourself. it’s just an app. just a pretty girl on an app. only later, when you slither into bed clad in your coziest socks under dimmed lights, you’re struck with the unforeseen.  your phone buzzes, and damn near flies out of your hand when you see the culprit notification. Ellie: Hey :)

oh god oh god oh god. it’s 11 pm. too early for a booty call. or is it? hell, would you even say no to one? not with her, hell no. your fingers tremble as you mull over the best response to send back—something to capture the attention of this hot girl who defied all odds and sent the first message. You: Hi :) great. just perfect. now you look like an idiot. you huff to yourself, running a clammy palm over your face, immediately swiping to another app in a desperate bid to forget that interaction exists. maybe 5 minutes pass. Ellie: What’s up tonight? Ellie: Sorry if that’s dry, I’m new to this dating app thing you smile ear-to-ear at the follow-up. it humanizes her—this gorgeous person who’s looking at the same screen as you, right this second. she’s real, and seems to care just as you do about saying the right thing. you don’t want to muck this up, already putting too much weight into this handful of words. You: Not much, just reading before bed. You? You: And that’s okay, you’re doing fine :) maybe 30 seconds pass this time. Ellie: Oh good Ellie: And just scrolling on my phone. I swear I’m usually more exciting lol Ellie: What are u reading? You: it’s this weird sci-fi fantasy thing. like space politics and robot humanoid thingies lol You: not sure if that makes sense Ellie: No it does! That sounds sick actually

Ellie: I love sci-fi, give me weird and spacey anyday you grin, already kicking your feet a little under the blanket. she gets it. she sees you. You: real!! so you do read it too? or are you trying to impress me? lol You: either is fine you tack on the quip at the end, worried you sounded hard-to-get. you don’t want to seem uninterested at all. you pull the blanket up over your mouth, as if shrouding yourself from the anticipation. Ellie: No I do Ellie: But i’d say i’m also trying to impress you a little. Is that a crime 🤨 now you’re really giggling, your embarrassingly fluttery fingers trying to type faster than your racing thoughts can keep up.

You: not at all. it’s working 🤭 Ellie: Good :) wanna get coffee sometime? We can exchange weird spacey sci-fi books You: I’d like that :) —---------------------- saturday at 1. saturday at 1 at northrise cafe.

the plan becomes etched into your brain. you’re on edge, unsure how to approach this new development. coffee is casual, right? you’re caught wondering if your giddiness suggests that you’re incapable of being casual about anything at all. let alone this cutie in your messages.

you’re on your laptop, browsing, trying to check off the last few tasks of the day when a new ping zaps through your synapses. instinctively, you reach for your phone. 

@/els.williams liked your photo.

on instagram? you hadn’t even exchanged instagrams yet. what a little sleuth ellie is.

you don’t say anything—just pleased at her curiosity. you toss a like back, letting ellie know she hadn’t been slick.

you rake your profile, for a brief panic over the viewability of your posts. but you’re relieved when ellie plays it off, naturally, by spamming a few more of your posts in retaliation, leaning into the bit. she must not hate it.

you follow suit, liking her few posts in return. they��re pretty vague, just a few photo dumps of someone trying not to look too online. almost none of her face; only piquing your curiosity more. this starts a little back-and-forth rhythm building between you.

maybe-just maybe-she is just as eager as you.

—------------

you stare at the locked doors of northrise cafe at 12:51 p.m on what’s turned out to be a balmy saturday afternoon.

closed at 12? what the fuck? that place’ll be out of business by summer with hours like that.

your fingers scramble across the screen, firing off a message before you both end up awkwardly standing here, side by side, locked out and confused like morons who didn’t triple check the business hours. You: um change of plan You: the cafe is closed. wtf no answer. your foot taps the pavement and you look around. why isn’t she answering? your eyes stay glued to the screen. hoping, waiting, praying that the message bubbles appear. all hope seems lost at 12:57 pm. “uh. hi?” your internal panic is interrupted, looking behind you. you weren’t ready for this up close—she’s gorgeous. lips pinkened, cheeks rosey but still full of freckles, and yep, green of her eyes brighter in person. her hair, pulled back in a loose bun with some strands lining her face, sheens in the light, more reddish than brown now. she was wearing an black leather jacket, old, worn, fitting loosely on her. the looseness of the jacket complemented her skinny jeans. she did casual so well. and the way she smiled—something seraphic, inviting, in spite of the awkward situation that had arose.

you try not to trip over your own tongue, stumble over your words. “hello! hi. the cafe is closed. i tried to text you. umm…” you glance between her and the barrier that uprooted your plan. ellie steps closer, scanning the storefront, assessing the situation. her brow lifts slightly in disbelief before she presses her tongue to her bottom lip, thinking.

“i know it’s not ideal… but my place is just two blocks over,” she says, trying to stay lighthearted but careful, considerate. “....i promise i’m not a murderer.”

-------

ellie’s place is... characterized by your average early-20s space, barren in some corners, likely missing a few key essentials, but elevated by a more eccentric, nerdy memorabilia collection. it’s a cozy clutter.

not that you’re focused on that. you’re preoccupied with the fact that you’re in this one-of-a-kind cutie’s space after having only just met face-to-face. is this an absolute nightmare for the safety-conscious? mayhaps. but you trust her word about not being a murderer, willingly entering the potential lion’s den, convinced by a single glance into those soft, round, forest-colored eyes. you’ve settled on her patched-together loveseat, waiting for her return. it feels like every muscle in your body is dedicated to trying to seem casual. do you have any clue if it’s working? definitely not. “ta daa…” ellie rounds the armrest, carrying a plate teeming with whatever cheese, crackers, and olives she could scrounge together from her kitchenette. “it’s no cafe... but, uh, i think i did alright..”

she places a hard seltzer in your hand, catching you slightly off-guard. a questioning look flickers across her face as your fingers wrap around the can—an unspoken ask if you’re okay with this absolutely bastardized smorgasbord of treats.

it’s so funny, you can’t help but titter, peeling open the tab and tasting that first sip. ellie’s shoulders slump in relief as she situates the entree on the coffee table, her free hand reaching for the remote.

“i guess..there’s something special about sharing a charcuterie board and seltzer on the first meeting with a not-murderer,” you say, reaching out to clang your cans together.

she snorts at that, the sound short and unexpected, like she hadn’t meant to laugh but couldn’t stop it. she gently knocks her can against yours, the corner of her mouth twitching up. her knees subconsciously mirror the gesture, brushing against yours on the semi-cramped seat.

there’s a comfortable sliver of silence. maybe you’re both actively deciding which topic is best to redirect the afternoon. your eyes drift to her knickknacks—you start examining them more closely, hoping to jog ellie’s memory, silently nudging her to show off a little.

luckily, she catches on. she swallows the last of her cracker and rises, pointing toward the bookshelf brimming with comics. 

”oh, right- i can show you i meant it- the sci-fi nerd, thing..hopefully you find it as cool in person,” she musters up with a sheepish grin, gesturing you over. you follow, a collected smirk on your face to try and reassure her. you did think it was cool, in a dorky way. a dork you’d hope to have the courage to kiss senseless if the opportunity arose for sure. 

ellie traces the spines of her collection, introducing her volumes of comic books in a sort of impromptu show-and-tell. the more receptive you are, the more enthusiastic she gets—an excited aura radiating off her as she spouts off details, trivia, favorite arcs. you’re enamored with her nerding out. it’s endearing, disarming. it proves her humanness in a way that makes you fall further, faster.

the shelf is just the beginning, she shows off her trinkets littered all over, giving you a proper feel for her lived space and by proxy- ellie herself.

ellie suddenly looks taken aback. she scratches the back of her neck, slightly embarrassed, like she realized something was missing.

“it’s a bit..quiet? would you mind if i put on some music?”

eventually, ellie nabs a playlist, deciding it’d be nice. without a speaker, the sound quietly emits from her phone, a blend of alt-rock and dusty classics older than either of you. you sway a little in approval. it’s a small thing, but it sweetens the growing ease between you.

“anyway, don’t let me do all the talking. what are your favorites?” ellie puts the spotlight on you, and you return to the tightly-fit love seat, ellie tucking one leg underneath her and leaning in, freckles as evident as ever- allowing you some room in more ways than one. 

you snack on ellie’s make-do cheese board, conversing about your favorite stories, exchanging fan theories and controversial opinions, playfully debating for the hell of it. there are even a few little couch-dances to whatever’s playing. it’s delightfully awkward, it’s low stakes, and you’re growing more comfortable by the second. 

time slips away during the warm, lively chatter. you’re only aware that it’s getting to be late when the sun melts into a golden glow that peeks through the window shades.

“would you look at the time?” you announce, stretching out from that extended time curled up, invested in this girl. you shoot ellie the universal look, initiating a regretful, hesitant goodbye. seems neither of you really want it to end- but simultaneously fear being the one acting ‘too much’ or overstepping. 

ellie escorts you down to the entrance, hands shoved into her pockets of her skinny jeans, steps dragging at a snails pace.

you hover. glance at her mouth under the dim, flickering entryway light. she does the same—shoulders curled forward, eyes darting. both of you standing there, waiting for the other to act brave just as ellie had with that first dm—the one that led you here. ellie even rocks forward on the balls of her feet, eyes flitting to your lips and down to your shoes, almost having the nerve to go for it. 

but, alas, the loserishness wins over.

you lift a small wave, which ellie volleys back to you. finally parting ways, ellie stepping backwards, retreating into her place. a space you already sorely missed, despite only having visited one time. but you’re already, eagerly hoping it’s not the only time you grace the inside of it.

you‘ve hardly turned the street corner when your phone dings.

Ellie: I had a good time. Hope u did too :) Lowkey wish I had kissed you you stop walking, grinning at the screen like a dumbass and biting back a tiny, smitten squeal. 

You: next time <3 

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Villain!Ghost x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Your husband wants your company..

A/n: GUYS OMG, I know it's been 1 month and a little more since my last official work. I've been procrastinating on this for so long since I only have less than a week till school again.. Also everyone I love on this app is just disappearing, like @ghost-cyphera just deleted her account 4 days ago and I got the notif but didn't see it in time, I didn't even get to say goodbye. Just wanted to apologize to you guys after being gone for so long as well. Also, another villain!Ghost drabble? 👀

Finding it difficult to walk was one of the least things you've suspected you'd be concerned of upon conceiving, always needing your handmaiden's help in such a mundane task was shameful to say the least but your husband insisted.

If it hadn't been the hand maiden then it would've been him instead, you couldn't keep him from his duties from the kingdom as he carried even yours. Wanting you to turn your attention to the health of the babe growing in you and especially yourself..

"My lady.." you were pulled out of your thoughts by the voice of your handmaiden. You took in a breath from the cool air that blew on your face as you stood by the stone railing..

"Yes, Leticia?" You turned to her..

"The prince consort has requested your company.." Leticia announced, you nod as you removed your hand from the cold stone. You glanced once more to the people of your kingdom, going about their day and life before gently lifting yourself off from leaning on the stone.

Leticia offered you her arm to help you walk more efficiently..

...

"You sent for me..?" You asked your husband, he was sat and signing another set of documents and scrolls. You closed the door, palms gently pushing till you heard it click.

"No, I told them to announce my arrival to you. How dare they exert my wife by giving her false instructions.." he huffed to which you laughed. He wouldn't do anything violent about it, as he so usually does with staff that don't comply but he knew it'd upset you if anything gory were to happen to them.

"I am quite alright, I need to move around too. It's proven to be good for our child." You said, sitting next to the graciously comfortable chair next to his working desk that he had someone make for you.

You felt relief from the pressure previously on your back, hand on the bump of your stomach and with that a sigh came from your lips. Peacefully watching your husband, the sound of the satisfying scratching of the quill on the crisp papers.

You felt his hand grasp yours, he pulled it, lips resting on the back. His affection made your heart beat faster and he felt it, the pad of his index finger on your wrist. The thumping made him chuckle as you smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder.

"You should rest for a while, my love. You'd work yourself to sickness at this point." You kiss his cheek softly. He put his quill down, "If that's my wife wants.." he said.

He wrapped his arm around you, the other hand placed on your baby bump. His thumb gently rubbing, you jolted a bit feeling a strong kick..

It made you groan, how restless the rascal is. Your husband adjusted his hand to feel the next kick.. he'd swear it was a girl, not that he'd care for that sort of thing. He'd kill for them either way, especially for you. He could stare at you all day, swollen with his child.

How glowing you looked wrapped in the finest silk and the gold and jewels in your hair and body clicking upon contact with another piece, he wished he could tell you how utterly speechless you'd leave each man by just walking passed them but to him no word is enough to describe you.

At least he could spend these small intimate moments with just you and you alone, free of the world for even just a few minutes as he needed a break from the work he very much was eager to do to be able to receive praise from his wife..

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo @duck-a-doodle

[dksfml]

LOVE 119 [PART II]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. masterlist.

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: enemies at work, lovers at home. secret dating. jungwon is hot when jealous, suggestive, fluff summary: your coworkers think that you and niki look cute together while jungwon, your boyfriend is literally standing next to you and it's driving him insane. word count: 3.5k author's note: hey everyone! as promised, i'm here to serve another paramedic jungwon brainrot because it's not fair to just devour this cutesy alone. enjoy and leave some notes <3 read part 1 first and reply if you want to get tagged for the next parts!

You’re midway through a lukewarm coffee in the hospital cafeteria when your coworker leans in, voice low and eyes gleaming with intrigue. “So…” she starts, drawing the word out slowly, “who’s the lucky guy?”

It takes you a second, but the question sinks in just as she tilts her head, nodding toward your neck with a smirk. Your hand instinctively rises to the spot Jungwon’s lips had claimed last night, right at the juncture of your neck and shoulder—a parting gift as you’d curled up together, something you didn’t think twice about until now.

A blush surges to your cheeks. “What? Oh, no, that’s… I scratched it too hard,” you say quickly, heat rising not only from the surprise but the memory of last night—Jungwon’s sleepy grin, the way he’d pulled you close, whispering in your ear as he pressed soft kisses down the curve of your neck.

“Sure you did,” she teases, crossing her arms as her smirk widens. “You’re going to need a better excuse than that. So… is it Niki?”

“What?” you laugh, the idea so out of the blue it’s almost comical. “Niki? Why would you even think that?”

She shrugs, the smugness on her face never faltering. “You always have a soft spot for him. You never scold him like the rest of us. Plus, everyone’s seen the way he hovers around you in the halls, he’s clearly smitten.”

Your eyes widen at the notion. Niki, your young, eager junior who fumbles his way through shifts and who you can’t help but look after because he’s new and a little too starry-eyed for his own good? It’s laughable. “It’s not like that,” you manage, shaking your head. “He’s just… young, that’s all.”

“Mhmm,” she says with a knowing chuckle. “Sure, if you say so.”

Before you can protest further, your phone vibrates. Glancing down, you find a message from Jungwon: a photo of his lunch, neatly arranged with a sweet message beneath it. “Eat well, ily.”

The casual intimacy of it makes your stomach flip, and you feel an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. You quickly swipe away the notification, hoping she didn’t see the smile or the faint hearts in your eyes.

The day unfolds in the usual rush of patient check-ins, chart updates, and emergency calls. You busy yourself to the point where the cafeteria conversation drifts from your mind—until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the break room mirror and spot the faint outline of that now-infamous hickey, the concealer having barely managed to mask it. You tug your collar higher, hoping to hide it through the rest of the shift.

The afternoon in the ER has been a blur of movement and urgency, leaving you barely a moment to breathe. Every time an ambulance pulls up, your heart skips a beat, half-hoping, half-dreading that it’ll be Jungwon walking through those doors.

But each time, it’s someone else, and you return to the steady rhythm of your work, instructing Niki at your side as he follows your lead. Despite the tense environment, he’s attentive and focused, learning from you as he manages each step of the patient’s treatment with remarkable ease.

Afterward, you and Niki head back to the department office, the adrenaline settling as you both chat lightly, unwinding from the chaotic pace. As you enter, you spot Jungwon down the corridor, heading the other way with a stack of documents.

It’s almost comical how, even amidst the bustling hospital, his presence stands out so starkly to you. For a split second, he glances your way, and the fleeting moment feels charged, pulling your attention and making it impossible to look away. But as soon as your eyes meet, you glance down, hoping no one notices how that brief connection leaves your pulse racing.

Once back at your desk, you feel your coworkers’ eyes on you, their curious glances flickering between you and Niki. You try to brush it off as nothing, settling into your usual seat, with Niki across from you. Just as you’re starting to sift through some files, Jungwon’s familiar stride enters the department office.

His easy confidence fills the room, and he greets everyone with that understated charm, heading to a nearby colleague to ask for specific documents. You’re not even looking at him, but his presence is impossible to ignore. You focus on your papers, hoping that looking busy might steady your nerves, but the pages blur in front of you, your mind too distracted by the fact that he’s just a few steps away.

Then, just as you’re juggling a pile of documents, you accidentally knock over your iced coffee. The mostly empty cup clatters over, spilling what’s left onto your coat. The moment the coffee splashes onto your coat, Niki and Jungwon are both at your side in an instant. Niki’s quick to pull out a box of tissues, while Jungwon silently holds out a pristine handkerchief, a touch of annoyance already flickering in his gaze.

Caught off-guard, you instinctively reach for Niki’s tissues, leaving Jungwon standing there with his handkerchief, his jaw tightening slightly as he watches you dab at the stain.

Your coworkers notice the scene and immediately latch onto it, their laughter filling the room. "Oh, come on, you two," one of them teases, grinning at the pair of you. "Why don’t you just date already?”

Another chimes in, "Yeah, it’s obvious there’s something going on. I mean, look how attentive Niki is—always ready to help you out."

You wave them off, laughing it away, but the teasing only grows louder. Someone else playfully nudges Niki. "What’s next, bringing her coffee in the morning?"

Niki laughs, scratching the back of his head, visibly flustered. "Come on, guys, we’re just… coworkers," he insists, though his blush only adds fuel to the fire.

Meanwhile, you can feel Jungwon’s gaze on you, sharper and more intense than ever. His silence speaks volumes; the usual relaxed confidence he carries seems to be tinged with something harder, a jealousy that simmers just beneath the surface. It unsettles you, tugging at something guilty inside as the teasing around you grows.

Suddenly, Jungwon steps forward to you, interrupting the chatter with a clipped tone. "Enough with the tissues,” he says, leveling his gaze at you, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Stop fussing with that coat—you’re only making it worse. Change into something clean, or the smell will stick with you all day.”

The room falls silent, your coworkers exchanging amused glances. You roll your eyes, unwilling to let him get the last word.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Practicality. I can handle a few drops of coffee,” you retort, folding your arms and meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt of your chin.

He raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

"Right, because dealing with a coffee stain is something you’re well-prepared for," he says dryly, folding his arms to match yours. "Clearly, practicality isn’t your strong suit."

You scoff, refusing to back down. "And since when did you become an expert in coffee stain management? It’s barely noticeable, and I’m perfectly fine with it."

Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver, the challenge sparking between you both as he leans in just a fraction, his voice lower. "Just because you’re fine with it doesn’t mean everyone else is." His eyes flick down to the stain and then back up to yours, a knowing glint in them.

Your coworkers are watching with raised brows, amused but also visibly intrigued by the tension between the two of you. "Are we interrupting something?” one of them jokes, breaking the silence. "Honestly, the way you two bicker is like a married couple."

The comment makes you blush, but Jungwon doesn’t flinch. Instead, he holds your gaze, his smirk deepening. "At least one of us knows how to handle these little emergencies,” he quips, voice steady, though there’s a hint of something raw behind his eyes—a hint of jealousy that only you can catch. The way he’s looking at you, there’s no mistaking it: he’s anything but amused by the teasing around Niki.

But before you can respond, Niki steps forward, awkwardly placing his coat over your chair. “Um, here,” he says, clearly trying to ease the tension. “You can wear mine for now if the coffee’s bothering you that much.”

The room erupts into more laughter, someone nudging Niki with a grin. "See? He’s a gentleman. Really, you two should just make it official."

Another coworker teases, "Or maybe they already have, and they’re just not telling us."

Jungwon’s expression hardens as he watches the exchange, his eyes narrowing. His gaze flickers from Niki to you, a frustration simmering beneath his calm facade.

You feel the tension growing, an almost tangible weight of jealousy in the way his jaw clenches, his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh.

Finally, he speaks up, cutting through the laughter with a controlled but slightly irritated tone. "Enough of the matchmaking." His gaze falls pointedly on you, something possessive flickering there, though he masks it quickly. "And you should change. That coffee smell won’t just vanish."

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to back down. "If it bothers you so much, why don’t you bring me a change of clothes yourself?"

"Thanks," he says shortly, taking the stack of paperwork with a polite nod. He turns back to you and your coworkers, offering a quick, “See you all later. Take care, everyone.” His voice is casual, but as his gaze lingers on you for a fraction of a second longer, you feel the weight of everything left unsaid.

With that, Jungwon strides toward the door, his usual self-assured calm back in place. You watch him leave, but just as he reaches the exit, your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, your pulse quickening as you read the message from him:

“I have something you can change into in the back of the car.”

It’s simple, yet there’s something about it that makes your stomach flip. You glance up just in time to catch Jungwon’s silhouette disappearing down the hallway, feeling the tension of the moment linger in the air long after he’s gone.

The rest of your shift rolls by with its usual demands, and you brush off the incident from earlier, deciding against getting the change of clothes Jungwon offered. By the time you finally clock out, the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the nearly empty parking lot. Just as you step out of the hospital doors, Jungwon’s car pulls up in front of the exit.

You feel a small smile tugging at your lips as you walk over and slip into the passenger seat. “Hey,” you greet him, but his focus remains straight ahead, his hands firm on the wheel, his paramedic uniform clinging to his form. The sight of him in that navy blue uniform, complete with the badge and patches, usually makes your heart race, but today his expression is unreadable. A flicker of surprise hits you. Jungwon, who is usually quick with a playful remark, doesn’t even turn his head as you settle in, leaving you feeling a bit deflated.

You tilt your head, watching him closely, noticing the slightest crease of annoyance in his brow. With a slight pout, you try breaking the ice, “So, how was your day?”

He answers, but his tone is clipped, barely more than a few words. "Busy. The usual."

You blink, feeling a hint of tension in the air. Normally, he’d be cracking jokes or filling the car with easy chatter, but now he’s focused on the road with a seriousness that feels almost uncharacteristic.

Leaning back in your seat, you give him a sideways glance. “Is this about the clothes?” you finally ask, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Are you upset I didn’t change into them?”

A quick denial. “No,” he says, a bit too fast, but still refusing to look your way.

You can’t help but smile a little, noticing his hands gripping the wheel tighter than usual. “Uh-huh. Doesn’t sound like you’re not upset,” you tease, leaning forward to get a better look at his face.

“I’m not upset,” he repeats, but he’s biting his lip, eyes fixed stubbornly ahead as if he’s hyper-focused on the road. His brow furrows, and he lets out a soft sigh.

“Come on, Jungwon, it’s cute when you sulk,” you say, your smile widening at the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly, revealing his irritation in the most subtle way.

This finally gets a reaction. He glances at you, his eyes narrowing just a little. “I’m not sulking,” he mumbles, but the denial lacks its usual conviction.

“You look pretty sulky to me,” you murmur, enjoying the rare moment of catching him off guard.

Just then, the car comes to a stop at a red light, and you glance over to find him holding a long breath, his expression somewhere between frustration and fondness. The tension in the air shifts slightly as he turns his gaze towards you, and in that moment, you feel the familiar flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

Without breaking eye contact, he places his right hand gently on your lap, rubbing small circles with his thumb. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, igniting that familiar spark between you two. It’s a simple gesture, yet it feels so intimate, especially with the way he’s staring at you as if he’s trying to convey everything he can’t say out loud.

He resumes driving as the light turns green, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his voice softens, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the usual bravado. “I’m not upset,” he assures you, though the sincerity behind his words hints at something deeper, something he’s wrestling with beneath the surface.

You can’t help but smile at him, the weight of his earlier mood lifting slightly. “Then what’s with the whole silent treatment? You know you can just tell me, right?”

Jungwon shakes his head, a faint smile creeping onto his face despite his mood.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he says, his voice maintaining a lightness that’s undercut by an earnest edge. “I don’t want to be the guy who gets all worked up over people assuming you and Niki are a thing.”

You bite your lip, the realization sinking in that his jealousy is more about their perceptions than the spilled coffee earlier.

“Well, I’m definitely not dating Niki,” you reply softly, trying to ease his tension. “He’s just a good coworker. You know that.”

He glances at you briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile as he focuses back on the road.

“Good,” he mutters, his hand still gently rubbing your thigh, sending tingles coursing through you. The intimacy of the gesture makes your heart race.

He passes another intersection and accelerates, the car moving smoothly through the streets.

“But you know,” you continue, trying to keep the mood light, “if you were just a little quicker with your offer, I wouldn’t have to deal with all this teasing.”

Jungwon lets out a soft chuckle, the tension in the car easing slightly. “I thought I was quick enough,” he says, a playful tone returning to his voice. “How was I supposed to know you’d be so stubborn?”

“Stubborn? Me? Never,” you tease, rolling your eyes dramatically.

He shakes his head with a laugh, his grip tightening slightly on your thigh, a subtle reminder of the unspoken bond between you two. As he navigates the streets, the silence stretches comfortably, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of traffic.

“Hey, you should know,” you add after a moment, “if you want to make sure I’m not wearing Niki’s clothes, maybe you should just… keep me in yours.”

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Is that your way of saying you want me to dress you?”

“Maybe,” you reply coyly, biting your lip again, the playful banter making you feel bold.

He laughs, shaking his head as he pulls into a quiet parking lot. “You really know how to make me feel like I’m the jealous one, huh?”

“Just speaking the truth,” you say, leaning back into the seat, enjoying the rhythm of the moment.

As he turns off the engine, the atmosphere shifts slightly, the playful banter fading into a more intimate silence. Jungwon finally meets your gaze, his expression earnest. “Just so you know, it’s not about Niki. I just…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I want to be the one you lean on, the one you trust.”

Your heart swells at his confession, a warmth spreading through you. “You are, Jungwon. You’re the one I always want to lean on.”

He smiles, a genuine light returning to his eyes, and in that moment, everything feels right.

When you arrive at your apartment, Jungwon opens the door for you, the familiar scent of your space washing over you. As soon as you step inside, he follows closely behind, and before you can even set your bag down, he closes the door and turns to face you.

In an instant, the air between you shifts. Jungwon steps forward, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you closer. You barely have time to react before he captures your lips with his in a deep, passionate kiss that takes your breath away. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you and the electric tension that crackles in the air.

His lips move against yours with a fervor that surprises you, and you feel your heart racing, responding instinctively as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, his mouth coaxing yours open as he explores the sweetness of your taste. It’s intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the moment, your worries and doubts melting away.

In the midst of the kiss, he breaks away for just a moment, breathless and looking down at you with those soft eyes. “I can still smell the coffee,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You giggle, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the reminder of the earlier incident making you giddy. “Well, I didn’t exactly plan for that to happen,” you reply, your voice teasing but breathless.

“Maybe I should get you a proper change of clothes next time,” he quips, his eyes sparkling with mischief. But then he adds, more seriously, “You should probably take those off; the smell will cling to you.”

His suggestion sends a thrill through you, and you find yourself biting your lip in excitement. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you want me to take them off?” you tease, your heart racing as you lean closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

He chuckles softly, but there’s a glint of something deeper in his eyes. “Okay, maybe it’s a little selfish,” he admits, his breath ghosting over your skin as he moves in even closer.

With a playful grin, you decide to indulge him. “Fine, but only if you do too,” you say, your fingers finding the buttons of his uniform. You start to unbutton it, your hands trembling slightly with anticipation. Each button that comes undone reveals more of his toned physique, and your breath hitches as you take in the sight of him.

As your fingers glide over the fabric, Jungwon watches you, his expression a mixture of desire and admiration. “You know, this might be the best idea you’ve ever had,” he murmurs, his voice low and enticing.

You finally push the uniform off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. In that moment, the playful atmosphere shifts into something more intimate. He captures your lips again, and you feel the heat between you both intensify as you pull away the last barriers that had been keeping you apart.

Just when you think it can't get any more intense, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he admits, his breath mingling with yours, creating a palpable tension that thrums in the air.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, your voice teasing yet filled with warmth.

“You know I can’t let everyone find out I’m dating the hottest doctor in the hospital, or else…” he argues, a playful grin breaking through his earlier seriousness.

“Oh, please,” you bite back with a smirk, playfully nudging him. “Like they wouldn’t notice that the ‘sexiest and charming paramedic’ is completely smitten.”

With a smile that could light up the room, you lean in for another kiss, feeling the world around you fade away once again as you get lost in him.

masterlist.

[beanietopia]

read part 1 here

the next morning, you woke up a bit later than usual. all too eager to play with choso in a few hours, you decided to have a little playtime of your own in the twilight hours of the morning. after about 20 minutes of unsuccessfully attempting to make yourself cum, you ended up falling asleep as the slightest peak of sunrise came up over the horizon. by the time you lifted your head from your pillow and checked the time, you saw you had missed one notification from choso.

‘are you awake?’ was all it read. shit, what if he was busy now? you already couldn’t make yourself cum earlier, what if you missed your chance today? you had scrambled to unlock your phone, texting out a quick apology and explaining that you were asleep. you silently cursed yourself for not being conscious of the time, your clit already throbbing from the failed orgasm of this morning. just when you were about to throw your head into your pillow and mope for the rest of the day, your phone buzzed with the familiar x notification.

‘i’m ready now whenever you are.’ you practically jumped upright on the bed, halfway through sending a quick reply before a picture came in. fuck, was that him? in the photo, choso was fully erect, holding his dick at the base so you could see it all in its veiny glory. he was clean shaven, maybe even waxed, and his pink tip leaked pre down his shaft. you felt your breath catch in your throat at the sight, already feeling your panties dampen with your arousal. how did you get so lucky?

he had already begun sending videos to you, sharing his fantasies of fucking you in as many places as he could. the car, the public bathroom, the beach, even the park, just to name a few. the slippery sounds of the lube coating his shaft echoed off the walls as he imagined filling you with his cum. you were hardly responding at this point, working yourself open with your fingers while reading choso’s lewd desires. 

‘fuck, i want to see you so bad. are you playing with yourself too?’

with trembling hands, you opened your camera and hastily found an angle where your face was not visible. there you were, spread out on your sheets wantonly fucking yourself with your dildo. your breathy moans could be heard while the toy covered in your arousal pumped in and out of you, begging for the faceless man to ‘keep fucking you right there’.  your eyes squeezed shut as you found yourself getting close, those hours of pent up frustration having caught up to you. your walls clenched around the toy for a moment and you gasped aloud, whimpering as your sensed your orgasm about to rip through you. you desperately rubbed circles on your clit to bring yourself to cum, the pressure pushing out the toy and soiling the sheets underneath. ‘shit..’ 

you halfway forgot that this video was supposed to be for choso, and you were met with his messages begging for you to come back, he was so close, to your amusement. sending the video you just made for him, you took the time to change your sheets when you got another notification.

‘fuck, that was so good..’ followed by a video of him finishing on himself as well.

you were so grateful for your little arrangement.

-----------------

@my-anime-garden @kabukipookie @frosch-thefrog @pimento-mori @takumasimp @cuntphoric @valicalliali @gojoscinnamonroll @webism @xixflower @voidnz

part 2 is here EVERYBODY CHEERED!!!! i'm a lil sick rn so this was ROUGH to finish but i hope you all enjoy xoxoxoxo beanie out

[itsbbokari]

Title: Delete My Life (But Not the Playlist)

“I accidentally sent you a playlist of love songs”

Paring ⤑ ( Jisung x Reader)

Word Count: 660

It all started with a Spotify notification.

Y/N blinked at her phone as the banner popped up at the top of her screen.

“Jisung shared a playlist with you: ‘Y/N’”

She tapped it out of curiosity. The cover image was soft pink with a blurry candid of her—one he’d taken a few weeks ago when she wasn’t paying attention, laughing at something dumb he’d said.

Heart fluttering, she opened the playlist.

And froze.

Track 1: Crush

Track 2: Can’t Take My Eyes Off You

Track 3: Talk You Down

Track 4: I Like Me Better

Track 5: Falling for You

There were twenty-eight songs total. Every single one was about falling, longing, confessing. Some were soft and slow, others upbeat and giddy. But every lyric—every single lyric—read like a love letter.

To her.

She stared at the screen, heat rising to her cheeks. Was this a joke?

But before she could even begin to make sense of it, her phone buzzed again.

[Jisung: 7:06PM]

DO NOT OPEN THAT PLAYLIST I SENT YOU BY ACCIDENT I BEG U

[Jisung: 7:06PM]

I MEANT TO SEND THAT TO A FRIEND FOR ADVICE NOT YOU I’M PANICKING

[Jisung: 7:07PM]

I MEAN NOT LIKE THAT I MEAN YES LIKE THAT BUT NOT ON PURPOSE I’M GOING TO DELETE MY LIFE

She tried not to laugh, but a snort escaped. She bit her lip and messaged back.

[You: 7:08PM]

So… you have a playlist about me?

[Jisung: 7:08PM]

It’s not ABOUT you I mean yes it IS about you but I didn’t mean for you to see it

[Jisung: 7:08PM]

Can I offer you a song in this trying time???

[ You: 7:09PM]

You already did. 28 of them, actually.

There was a pause. A long one. And then—

[Jisung: 7:11PM]

…Did you like it?

[Jisung: 7:11PM]

I mean if we’re past the point of me pretending it’s not a big deal. Which clearly we are.

Y/N bit her lip, then slowly typed.

[You: 7:13PM]

I’ve already played it twice. Favorite one is #12. I didn’t know you liked that kind of soft stuff.

[Jisung: 7:13PM]

I only do when I think about you.

That one hit her in the chest.

Another ping.

[Jisung: 7:14PM]

If I officially asked you out, would you say yes? Or would I need to make a sad playlist next?

[You: 7:15PM]

You’d better make a happy one. You’re taking me out.

Three dots blinked.

[Jisung: 7:16PM]

Okay but now I have to make ANOTHER playlist titled “My Girlfriend Y/N” and it’s going to be 100 songs minimum. You brought this upon yourself.

[You: 7:16PM]

I expect nothing less. You dramatic little sap.

That night, Jisung sent her a new playlist.

Title: “My Girlfriend Y/N ”

Cover: A selfie of the two of them from earlier that day, her head resting on his shoulder.

Track 1

“She Said Yes.”

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 1

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Series Masterlist | Part 2

Chapter Summary: You encounter an unexpected visitor in your home.

Chapter Word Count: Over 2.8k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, breaking and entering, stalking, coercion, threats (not against reader), creepy and unhinged behavior, flashback, possessiveness, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: Welcome to the Turn It Up AU! Thanks to @starlightcrystalline for helping bringing this unhinged Bucky to life and @targaryenvampireslayer and @tavners for the support. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You yawned as you flipped on the light switch in your apartment and set the keys on the table. It was early, but you were ready to settle in for the night after a busy shift. Maybe you could make a cup of tea and curl up with a book to unwind after dinner. Or maybe even a nice, hot bath and a glass of wine.

If only Addison could hear your thoughts now. She’d tease you for not living it up and enjoying the single life. Nothing new.

Your mouth fell open as you walked into the living room, but no sound came out as you skidded to a stop. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest and plummeted to your stomach at the same time as your phone fell from your hand. It was like you couldn't breathe. Because a man was sitting on your sofa.

And you lived alone.

“What…” you exhaled, no louder than a whisper.

The man didn't speak as he stared at you. He didn't even blink. The staring contest gave you a moment to take in his appearance. Intimidating even though he was sitting, his dark suit looked tailored to perfection on his broad frame. Dark brown hair framed his face and matched the stubble on his face, with the exception of a few gray hairs. The dangerous glint in his hard blue eyes did little to put you at ease, but there was something soft there as well.

In any other circumstance, you would've said he was handsome.

You bent down to pick up your phone before he let out a tsk, a subtle warning for you not to try anything. “Who are you? Why are you in my home?” You asked as you straightened up, hoping your tone didn't betray how terrified you were.

Nothing looked out of place. If he was there to rob you, there wasn't much worth taking. While you weren't struggling, you were far from rich.

He smirked and leaned back further into the cushion, his eyes roving over your body. You hadn't noticed right away, but the hand draped on the back of the sofa appeared to be metal. Or was it a glove? He didn't have to stand for you to know he was larger than you. If things got physical, you wouldn't stand a chance.

“Okay…” If he wasn't going to give you any sort of answer or clue as to who he was or why he was there, you’d just leave. You could go to a neighbor’s place or Addison’s to call the cops. But he didn't seem to like it when you took a step back since he pinned you with a glare and crooked his finger, beckoning you to go to him.

Your legs wobbled with the first step, but you righted yourself as you continued to move forward. If he noticed your misstep, he didn't acknowledge it. You swallowed, worried that bile would rise to your throat from how sick you felt when you stopped in front of him. That feeling only grew when he leaned in to grip your waist and roughly pulled you toward him.

A scream escaped this time around, but his hand clamped over your mouth to smother the sound. The cold fear that trickled down your spine would stick with you for days to come as he pulled you onto his lap and shook his head with another tsk. There was no mistaking the evident lust in his gaze as his eyes bore into yours.

What was he going to do to you?

You put your hands on his shoulders to push yourself away, but the hand on your hip held you tighter. You squirmed in his lap before you brushed against the outline of his cock, your body stiffening when he let out a low groan. With wide eyes, you decided moving wasn't a wise decision.

“Keep moving your hips if you want, but don't scream again,” he warned, his deep voice rumbling from his chest as you breathed through your nose. “There’s time for that later.”

Blood rushed to your ears as your heart pounded faster. You wished you could've stopped the tears from filling your eyes, but you weren't that strong. Was he going to hurt you? Kill you? If so, why?

The brunette cooed as a tear slid down your cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? But I will gag you if I remove my hand and you scream again,” he promised, his tone lighter than a moment ago. “Blink once if you promise not to scream.”

You blinked, another tear falling from your eye.

A pleased look crossed his face when he removed his hand and you complied. “Good girl,” he whispered and you ignored the new kind of shiver that rolled down your spine. “I didn't mean to startle you, but I couldn't wait any longer to see you.”

You exhaled as he used his thumb to wipe the tears away, your body still stiff as you focused on trying to stay calm. Couldn't wait to see you? You had never seen this man before in your life. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“My name is Bucky Barnes. And don't worry. I already know your name.” He smirked as he rested his hand on your cheek. You managed not to flinch at his calloused touch. “Did you have fun at my club?”

Confusion flickered in your gaze. “What?”

“My club, The 107th. I own it. Did you have fun?” He asked again, looking at you expectantly.

The 107th was the most luxurious and expensive nightclub in the city. Chic and glamorous in design with a friendly staff who waited on people hand and foot, you felt like royalty as you hung out in the VIP section. The upscale venue wasn't one you frequented often. In fact, you had only been once.

For Addison’s bachelorette party.

“Y-Yeah,” you replied, still confused as to what he wanted. “It’s a nice club.”

He hummed, his thumb brushing across your trembling lip. “I’m glad to hear it, but you didn't seem to have as much ‘fun’ as your friends. Did you?”

You nursed your drink as you gazed out at the dancefloor from your seat. The place was packed, the strobe lights flashing over the crowd in various hues as they grinded to the beat. You adjusted the hem of your short black dress as you debated going out to dance. You decided against it since you weren't looking to hook up.

“Come on! Another shot!” Addison yelled, adjusting her tiara on her head. She was lucky the “bride to be” sash was still on straight. “Shot, shot, sh-sh-sh-shot!”

You giggled as she plopped down beside you. “I did a shot. I'm fine,” you hollered back.

Your best friend grumbled something you couldn't make out as she put her head on your shoulder. “But you aren't even driving.”

“I don't want to deal with a hangover tomorrow,” you argued, thanking the server as she brought another bottle.

“Ugh. If you won't drink, at least get laid,” Addison whined a little. “You're wearing a slutty black dress and everything.”

You looked around at the group. Addison was the only one in white since she was the bride. Everyone else wore black. They looked great, but you weren't dressed to get any sort of attention.

“Yeah! Get fucked!” Dana shouted.

“Is that encouragement or an insult?” You teased, glancing at the small blinking light in the corner of the VIP section. You didn't notice it before.

“Raise your hand if you think our girl should get laid!” Addison announced, raising her hand high and spilling some of her drink on the seat. “Whoops.”

The group raised their hands as you attempted to clean up the small mess. “I’m not hooking up with anyone tonight,” you said to their disappointment. “This night isn't about me and my love life.”

“Your love life? Babe, it doesn't exist!” Addison grabbed your left hand and held it up to stare at your bare ring finger. “I don't get it. You're the only one not engaged or married yet. And you're, like, the sweetest one in our group. And you're so pretty! It’s not fair that you don't have a man. You deserve one.”

“And sex!” Dana chimed in. “You deserve lots of sex!”

You gently pulled your hand away and pushed down the sadness that surfaced at the reminder that you were the only single one left of your friends. You didn't know why you hadn't met the right one yet. It wasn't like your standards were too high and you were a good, loyal partner. You wouldn't say you were supermodel gorgeous, but you were pretty. You knew how to have a good time.

Right?

Addison's lip wobbled when she saw the look on your face. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m sorry. I didn't mean anything by it,” she rambled, hugging you from the side. “I just want you to have what Brady and I have. I want someone to love you.”

Guilt crept in before you shook your head and flashed your best smile. You know she wasn't trying to make you feel bad and you didn't want to ruin her night. “And one day, I will. Someone will love me the way Brady loves you and I’ll love him, too,” you assured her, giving the other girls a shrug and wishing they'd stop with the pitying stares. “Shots?”

“Shots!”

Your eyes briefly went back to the blinking light before you put a small smile back on your face. Addison was having fun and that was what mattered. You could worry about yourself and your feelings tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, but did my friends and I do something wrong?” You asked, dodging his question. You booked and paid for the section well in advance. Your group danced around in the area, and behaved overall and kept to yourselves. The server got a nice tip at the end of the night.

So what was the matter?

“Not at all,” he said, tilting his head. “I’m just sorry I couldn't introduce myself to you that night.”

“I don't understand. You broke into my home just so you could introduce yourself to me?” You asked as he traced small circles on your hips, the motion making your head spin a little. “How do you even know where I live?”

He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, before he got serious again. “I have my ways. And I can be a little intense and forward at times, but you’ll get used to it,” he said, your eyes wide again. What was wrong with this man?

“Okay, Bucky,” you said slowly, seeing something wicked flash in his eyes when you said his name. “Being intense and forward doesn't excuse breaking into my home. And since my friends and I didn't do anything wrong at your club and you formally introduced yourself, I think it's time for you to leave.”

A second passed before he shook his head. “No, doll. It’s time for you to get the love life and man you deserve.”

Fingers brushed your throat as you struggled to take your next breath. “What did you say?”

“I'm going to take you out to dinner tomorrow so you can get to know me and you’re going to wear the dress I bought for you,” he explained as if he didn't hear you, nodding toward the hall. “It’s waiting for you in your bedroom and, yes, it’s your size.”

How did this man have the nerve and how long had he been in your place? “You went into my room? You-”

“And I bought you that perfume you recently ran out of. I know how much you love it. I know everything about you,” he continued, running his nose along your neck as your blood ran cold. “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun together.”

You moved back, desperate to get away as your stomach twisted. He didn't let you get far, easily yanking you close again. How did he know anything about you? How did you catch his eye?

The blinking light in the corner of the VIP section …

“And if I say no?”

Bucky pulled back, his eyes calculating as he studied you. “I’m not going to force you into going out with me. It’s your choice to say yes or no, but I want you to think carefully about that choice.”

Dread pooled in your gut. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I obviously know where you live and I can get in and out undetected,” he pointed out. You wondered now if this was the first time he had been in your place. “I also know where your friend Addison and her fiancé, Brady, live.”

A wounded sound escaped at the thought of anything happening to your friends. “Please, leave them alone.”

“And the shop you work at, I know where it’s located. Those floral arrangements you make are stunning. Your boss even gave you a raise recently. You should be proud,” he smiled.

Your eyes watered again. The man was certifiably insane. Maybe this was a sick joke or a bad dream. Soon you'd wake up in your bed.

But the iron grip on your body reminded you that this was very real.

He waved a hand dismissively. “But we both know you’ll make the right choice because you're a good girl… a smart girl,” he said like he hadn't just threatened your friends or livelihood. “Just take the night to think it over. Have a glass of wine and draw yourself a nice bath while you do.”

He surprised you by moving you from his lap to the sofa. His hands and eyes lingered on you momentarily before he released you and stood up. Towering over you, he gave you a tender smile as he buttoned his jacket.

“I’m going to lock the door behind me when I leave and I’ll be back tomorrow at 7pm so you can give me your answer. And if you try and tell anyone I was here tonight, I’ll know about it,” he said, grasping your chin when you tried to look away. “It’s taking all of my control not to drag you to bed, but I can wait a little longer.”

Fear prickled the back of your neck as you tensed up. “You couldn't just ask me out like a normal person?”

You almost regretted asking when he narrowed his eyes, but he huffed out a laugh. “Where's the fun in that?” He winked as you shrank back in your seat. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I won't hurt you. And you know what? I just thought of something. You still need a plus one for the wedding. I’m free. I’ll get a suit to match your bridesmaids’ dress. We’ll look perfect together. And Addison will be so happy that you aren't going alone.”

His tone was light and happy like it was a suggestion and not an order, but the ferocity in his gaze had you trembling. “Why are you doing this?” You asked above a whisper.

“Because I want you and I get what I want,” he said as a matter of fact, releasing your chin. “Like I said, it's time for you to get the love you deserve. And I know you'll give it to me in return.”

It was like your spirit floated out of your body as he bent down to kiss your forehead. You couldn't move or speak. Was this what shock felt like? Or was it complete and utter fear?

You stared ahead as he picked up your phone and unlocked it with your passcode. He knew that, too? “Can’t leave without giving you my phone number,” he smiled, putting his information in before he set the device down. You didn't respond. Once he was gone you could scream and cry. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of breaking down in front of him. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, 7pm. Get some rest. You'll need it.”

Even as he left you alone and locked the door behind him as promised, you didn't move from your spot as tears streamed down your cheeks. You didn't dare go to your bedroom to see the gifts he left for you, your hand shaking as you wiped at your face. The scent of his cologne lingered, as did his touch. It was like his shadow covered you, leaving you cold and afraid. Your home was no longer safe.

You weren't safe.

With his subtle threat looming over your head, you’d have no choice but to go out with him. Maybe he’d get bored of you quickly and move on. Or maybe not. You had no way of knowing. All you knew was that your average life was upheaved by the owner of The 107th.

And you were going to be his girl whether you liked it or not.

Bucky isn't wasting time. Where is he taking you on your first date? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[messenger-of-babel]

The Call

Summary: One little call to each of them. One big consequence. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 2.9K

Notes: IM LATE AGAIN. I hope you all know that I do stay up wildly late when this happens cause I want to edit before I submit, even if some of these were pre-written (its 1:30AM RAHH). ANWAYS. Batfamily, I tried to get as many as I could but I haven't collected runs for about half the family cause I am biased towards my boys, but I am trying to be as accurate as possible when I can be and that includes those dynamics! So rest assured I am doing my research and hopefully that'll reflect soon. As usual, enjoy your daily feed and I'll enjoy my nap. Warnings just for general description of violence.

Much Love~! xx

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When Dick got the call, he was in his civilian clothes.

Dick Grayson was suit shopping, needing something for an upcoming gala. He had put it off for so long, since he wore the Nightwing suit more than any other in his closet. He had let it ring out once while he got his measurements taken, but when they called back a second time, his lips dipped into a frown. Excusing himself, he clicked the answer call button, stating his name. He hears the voice of Bruce, but in the stern tone of Batman. He doesn’t think that he's ever left a store as fast as he had that day, feet thudding on the pavement and breath cold in his chest as he hurries to his car. He unlocks it and all but throws himself into the passenger seat, lines on his face hardening. Throwing it quickly into drive he pulls out and heads in the direction of the manor.

He tries to keep himself composed, his emotional training kicking in. His fingers are tense on the steering wheel, passing over the bridge at a speed a cop would most certainly pull him over for. Even though he tries to take a deep breath, there's a burning in his sternum. It builds until it creeps into his neck, making him click his tongue uncomfortably.

The sensation is a rage he hadn't felt in a while, a fire that hadn’t burnt that intensely since he was just a boy grieving his parents’ death. It had flickered when he had heard Bruce had adopted a boy called Jason after him, sputtering to life upon hearing about his death. Yet he had grown, he had risen above it and had become a shelter for his younger, extended family. He was dependable, uncrackable, and upbeat, that was Nightwing. Yet as he drives back with that painful fire in his chest, he felt nothing more than Dick Grayson, the boy stricken with fear at the idea of losing his family.

When Jason got the call, he had been on patrol.

Helm securely on his face, it kept the drizzly night rain of Gotham out of his eyes. It had been a rather quiet night, stopping a few minor robberies and assaults that were common down by Dixon Docks. He was eager to return home, wanting to swing by the manor quickly to take full advantage of the hot water system before heading back to his apartment in Old Gotham for a well-deserved rest. He had just finished interrogating some of Penguins' men, about to call the cave to let whoever was on tonight know that they finally had the location of the new drug den they had been chasing the past month. However, the communication device he had set on his bike was lit, screen full of notifications.

Calls, one after another filled the small holographic display and he pressed the button to call back, leg swinging over the side of the bike as he did so. He had only started the bike but already he screeched to a stop, making sure he heard the words properly. A curse and gruffly shouted questions were his only response and when he got the information he wanted, he cut the call and the bike roared to life. He leant forward as if that was going to help him get to his destination quicker, blood boiling underneath his skin. His chest ached with the urge to sputter out pants, desperate to start the sign of panic racing through his veins. Yet he was stronger than that, keeping his cool like a tightly wound coil, muscles tensed beneath the suit.

His mind buzzes with worry, anxiety gnawing at his ribcage like a feral rat.

Jason doesn't often allow himself to be emotional on the job, despite his tendency for rage.

But rage was different. Rage burned and warmed him up from the inside, was the force that he put behind every punch or kick. It was his kindling, and it served to guide him as well as any star. Of course, Bruce had tempered it somewhat, but he had just guided Jason into turning it into something else, not getting rid of entirely. He used rage to protect the people of the city, the outrage he felt when he saw them get treated badly. He used rage when coming to his family's defence, the sight of hands being laid on people he had come to care for sparking it too. Those were the rages he was used to using, although there was always a third.

The pit.

The rage that bubbled away in the back of his mind, hidden behind a tall wall and shoved into the deepest part of him. That was the rage that crept forth, green and poisonous in his veins and clouding his judgement in a fog of pain and despair and anger. When it would appear, he would often take a moment to himself to pack it back away, contain it once more in the bulletproof casing of his heart. Yet right now, he didn't want to put it back. It made him rev the bike harder, made him feel like he was getting there quicker. The bike kicked up water as he zig zagged through the back streets, his mental map of Gotham rerouting anytime the traffic was longer than five cars deep. He couldn't afford to lost time, to not be fast enough. Not now, not this time, and if he had to use the rage the pit cursed him with, he would.

Tim was at the manor, holed up in his room when he got the call.

It had been a long night the night before, tossing restlessly. Not that he would have told anyone, but the last fight with Bane had left him with a few more bruises than he had let on, cleverly hidden from the keen eyes of Alfred. He wanted to nurse them himself, carry his own weight. In fact, he had been sulking in his room going over the things that had been troubling him, knees pulled to his chest.

Dick was capable and dependable, and the first Robin, the biggest shoes to fill. Jason was tenacious but loved deeply, and he fought for what was right. His methods might be unconventional to the Bat sometimes, but he knew what he wanted to fight for. Steph had flown the nest to become Spoiler, Cass already had such a firm grasp of who she wanted to become now that she was Orphan. Barbara had even been able to turn her life around after being put into her wheelchair, her desire to help leading her to become Oracle when she had to hang up Batgirl. Even Damian, the true son of Bruce Wayne, was so confident, growing at a rate he knew Bruce was quietly proud of.

But then there was Tim, who stayed up on weekends trying to redesign his suit, to carve his own vigilante life, only to look on it and see the traces of his time as Robin printed clearly on it. The role of Robin had outgrown him, but there was the shred of doubt that whispered in his ear that just maybe, he hadn't outgrown it. The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze, and he let it go to voicemail. When it came again, he grabbed his phone with the desire to turn it off, but seeing the emergency signal had him picking up right away.

"Hello?" he called, sitting right up in bed. His eyes widened and he shelved his pity party, running out of his room.

He winds through the halls of the manor until he finds the door he's looking for. Tim's knuckles rap against the wood loudly, repeating until a disgruntled Damian comes to the door, swinging it open violently. "This better be good, Drake." he deadpans, scanning the flustered state of the older boy. Tim just turns his phone screen, showing the emergency call signal before gesturing to the direction of the grandfather clock with his head. "We've got to go." he says curtly, the young boy hot on his heels after he recovers from his shock.

Both of them head to the cave and prepare to depart immediately. Tim slips the suit over his skin like an outgrown shedding, domino mask sliding onto his face. He couldn’t recognise his own face when he caught sight of it in the glass reflection, but a mask and suit would never be enough to hide the panic that clung to him tighter than the Red Robin suit.

When Bruce got the call, he was at Wayne Enterprises.

He was making a rare appearance at the office, knowing that Lucius had something that he wanted to talk to him about. His office felt foreign and sterile, empty and unreal. The glass surfaces everywhere let him glimpse the face of Bruce Wayne, a face that he was beginning to see less and less. It felt uncanny seeing himself without the cowl, and sometimes when he was working, he could swear he saw a reflection of the bat ears in the window beside him. The night had dragged on, and he was only an hour into the meeting with Lucius when the phone in his suit pocket rang.

He and Lucius shared a sceptical look as he turned the phone screen. The call location wasn't displaying as the Batcave, the only place that could contact this phone directly outside of his children, Lucius and Alfred's personal mobile. Yet he knew Red Hood was taking the brunt of patrol tonight, and Bruce was intended to join him after the meeting. Dick was carrying out some errands downtown and everyone else had either stayed home or didn't contact him like this often. The girls preferred to call his phone as Bruce Wayne or spoke through Alfred, so who could it be?

Lucius gives a nod, silent as he sits down. Bruce's face hardens as he presses the speaker button, accepting the call.

"Who is this?" he says, lowering his voice to the gravelly timbre of Batman.

"Da...B-Batman?" comes a broken, shaky voice on the other end. Lucius's eyes widen and flick to Bruce's immediately, mouth parting. Bruce's jaw ticks, eyes widening as well when he hears your voice.

"This is the Batman. How did you get this number?" He asks, having to focus on keeping his voice low, even though the tone of Bruce threatens to creep back in.

"He-he just had it. I don't know. He just told me to speak, I-I'm not even holding the phone I can't see anything; I’m tied, my eyes are-" you begin to ramble, struggling to get through your words before you're cut off.

"Hello, Batsy." calls a voice close to the receiver, and Bruce swore that his heart fell through the floor in that moment. His fingers tighten around the phone the same way that his lungs are constricting in his chest.

"Joker."

The man on the other end cackles, if Bruce could even call him that. "Miss me?" he snickers, Bruce's mind filling with the image of a red stretched grin. "You see, this is more of a... courtesy call. You know Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire?"

Bruce's head snaps up to Lucius, who's rubbing at his face nervously.

He didn't know, did he?

"You see, I didn't make a lot of impact going after the commissioner last time, so I had to think to myself, If I wanted to really shake things up in Gotham, who else is there? Then I thought of it, who better than the playboy of the century?" he laughs, punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers.

"Get to the point." Bruce all but growls.

"Yeah yeah, you always love to rush me, don't you?" The Joker snarks back with fake hurt, before continuing. "Regardless, I have one of his little orphan projects, thinking I might have a bit more success with this one."

He hears a thwack over the phone and a scream, making his nails dig into his palm. He steadies his breathing.

"What have you done?" he asks, low and dangerous.

Another thwack.

"Exactly what I said. But there was a rumour going around that you know Mr. Money, so I thought I'd give you a call, you know, a little gift. If you do know the richest orphan in Gotham, then I want to give you the honour of telling him I've got one of his. Better yet, I want to give you the honour of delivering their body to his doorstep. Maybe that way, you might be able to bond over losing your fake kids."

Bruce feels sick, closing his eyes to try and stop himself from making a mistake right now.

Your life was on the line. He had to play smart.

"Where are you?"

The joker tuts on the other end. "This was a courtesy call, nothing more. I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. Tata for now~"

"Joker-" he starts but then he's cut off, line going dead. Lucius doesn't say anything, his own personal phone pulled out as he calls Alfred, studying the frozen figure of Bruce. It's almost like there's dark tendrils to the shadows on his broad body, deepening the lines on his face.

Bruce doesn't remember too much, but Batman did.

Immediately he had left the room, suit en route to him and arriving within the minute. As soon as the comfort of his cowl touched his skin, Bruce was gone, and it was Batman calling everyone at the same time. It was Dick who picked up first, a couple of rings earlier than Jason before Tim joined, the sound of Damian in the background. Oracle and Spoiler joined together, while the others were still pending. He didn’t have the time to temper his voice as he relayed the situation, immediately getting as many people on recon as possible.

There were shouts and yelling and cursing before all of their lines became inactive, replaced with trackers signalling that their suits were live. When he enters the batmobile he grips the wheel tensely. The lump in his throat doesn't seem to disappear, only growing larger with each second. His mind is filled with pictures of Jason. Pictures of Barbara. The smiling photos of you.

He might never admit it, but he had your photos front and centre in his wallet (something you did in fact know and used to your advantage frequently in 'dad loves me more' battles). He remembers the first day he ever saw you, cold and scared apart from the other kids in the orphanage. He had been investigating a potential human trafficking ring operating out of the centre, but when he saw you, the fatherly pang hit him. The way your eyes stared forward dully as he greeted children as Bruce Wayne, cameras flashing around him. He had enough wealth to buy the children anything they asked for, the other kids excitedly asking for new toys or clothes or art supplies. However, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked you want you wanted, you said only a few words, 'a family'.

And god be damned if Bruce didn't have money enough for that too.

So, he took you in, hid batman from you like he had tried to with everyone else as well. Yet he failed again, but unlike his children in the past, you never asked to join. Never asked for a suit or to stay up or to train in the cave. Never showed any interest in joining your siblings or throwing yourself in front of danger for the sake of the city. When he asked you why you had simply shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

"All I've ever wanted was to be part of a family. I don't need to be a superhero to be loved."

And then you beamed at him with a smile that could have lit up his world and chased the clouds away from Gotham, so pure and genuinely content. That made Bruce feel like he had finally succeeded as a father, and for once Bruce felt like a father. No Batman, no mask and cape. He didn't train with you; he went out with you to the theatre on weekends. You didn't jump from rooftop to rooftop, you liked to come study with him in his office when he had to take care of Wayne affairs. Batman may have been created to save Gotham city, but he was convinced that you were sent to save Bruce Wayne.

Now, he felt that he had failed you as both Bruce and Batman.

"Hold on sweetheart," he whispers to himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment during his exhale. "I'll get you home. I promise."

He pressed the accelerator further, Batmobile display signaling that everyone else was suited up and across the city waiting further instruction. He just hoped, he prayed that when he brought you back, it wouldn't be in a body bag.

[fashion-runways]

hiii new pinned post again because the last one was outdated, there are links to the previous ones in that one as well. unfortunately there are no real updates re: my dad's wrongful imprisonment. at this point, they might be waiting until the statutes of limitations happen and it's over, i don't know. he has a therapist who's kind of expensive but we have to pay for and he has to go weekly because of all the trauma he has left from being in jail and from losing his job/not being able to find a new one because of this. his health got worse in there, too, so there are a lot of different doctors he has to go to, medications, etc. he's doing better every day, though, but that takes a lot of money of course.

i used to have a redbubble account that helped me get afloat alongside this blog, but it got suspended without notice and never got reinstated no matter how many things i've tried, so... that's another source of income that we lost. i used to make around 30/40 dollars a month there, now i make like 1/2 dollars on teepublic monthly, that's a huge difference. argentina's economy was always bad but it has been an absolute disaster since the current president got elected. prices rise literally on a weekly basis for everything from basic groceries to public transportation, power, water, phone bills, etc. my laptop's keyboard broke at some point and i almost had to buy a new one with money i literally didn't have, just going into negative numbers, but i managed to find a guy who replaced it for as cheap as he could. it was still expensive, but it was better than having to buy a new laptop entirely. would love to get a stable job, but that's always been impossible in this country, even more so lately. for updates on argentina in english, this person on twitter makes very good informative threads if you're interested.

on top of that my dog passed from cancer a few weeks ago, that was really expensive for us too, meds and appointments and special foods and everything that we could do to keep her happy until it was her time to go, and she was. i also started therapy around the time she was diagnosed (thank god) but my therapist had to rise her rates because of the economy mess i already mentioned, so... yeah. everything is exhausting and everything is expensive, and this is literally my only source of income. it's also the thing that i love doing the most and the thing that keeps me sane in all of this mess, so hey, never leaving. in fact, if anything ever happens to this website, you can always find me under fashion_runways on twitter or probably anywhere else. some of you guys mentioned not seeing my posts lately too, so if you can/want to, you can turn notifications on!

anyway yeah, all that to say i love this blog, i love fashion, and i love showing you guys new cool things and giving you guys ideas for art, or writing, or your own style, or just interesting stuff to look at. so if you can donate any money, that would help me more than you think. even a single dollar can change what i can do with my day sometimes, i swear. as usual, my kofi link: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my teepublic link: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. thanks for being around and sharing and reblogging my posts, thanks for asking questions about fashion, and of course thanks for helping to the ones who can, and thanks to the ones who can't too, i know how that feels like, don't worry about it. i love you 💖

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Slicked Back & Smitten

Rating: Mature Audiences

Warning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, spicy, wlw smut, mirror sex, Paige's biceps, paige fucking you while having you in a headlock, !top paige, !bottom reader, light oral (fem reseving), !purple strap Paige, !slick back ponytail P (yes this deserves a warning), fluff

Paring: Paige Bueckers x fem reader

Fandom: Uconn's Women's basketbal

Summary: Slicked Back ponytail P... and she's swollen in the right places too... oh you're down bad baby

Tag: @elliesglock , @elalfywhore , @paxaz535

The morning of the UConn vs. Butler game was absolute chaos. With a 1 p.m. tip-off, I had been up at the ass crack of dawn, running errands before heading to the arena. Meanwhile, Paige was at home, usually getting her game day braids done by Kayla—her routine, her thing.

Except today, Kayla couldn’t do them she was getting over being sick, didn't wanna risk Paige getting sick.

And I? I was too busy being the responsible, errand-running girlfriend to even offer to do them myself.

So, Paige had to figure something out.

By the time I arrived at the arena, the team was already warming up. I greeted a few of the staff members before spotting Kayla on the sidelines, watching the girls get their final shots up before tip-off.

"Did you see what she did?" Kayla asked as I approached.

I was confused. "Who?"

Kayla gave me a look. "Your girlfriend."

I turned my head, scanning the court until my eyes landed on Paige in her love, Abby warm up. And, oh, did my jaw practically drop.

Instead of her signature game day braids, she had done a sleek middle-part ponytail. The gel, the clean parting, the way the ponytail laid so perfectly down her back—it was… different. It was… distracting.

I bit the inside of my cheek, shifting on my feet. "Yeah… I see her."

Kayla snickered, nudging me. "She look good, huh?"

I exhaled sharply, eyes still glued to Paige as she moved across the court, completely unaware of the effect she was having on me. The slick back? The way it emphasized her face, her jawline, her everything? Yeah, it was bad for me.

"Kayla," I started, voice low. "I don’t think you should do her braids next game either."

Kayla howled. "Oh, nah, you down bad!"

I rolled my eyes, pretending like I wasn’t already making plans to personally ensure Paige never wore braids again.

———

The first half of the game was a problem.

Paige was playing out of her mind. She was dropping dimes, hitting threes, getting to the basket with ease—and she looked damn good doing it.

I was trying to focus on the actual game, trying not to be the most obvious girlfriend ever, but every time she drove to the rim, her ponytail swung just right, her edges still perfectly laid despite how much she was sweating.

It was a crisis.

By halftime, I had reached my breaking point.

Sitting in the stands, I pulled my phone out, thumbs flying across the screen as I sent a text Paige wouldn’t see until later.

Me: You need to put me in a headlock when we get back home.

Me: And I need you to consider this slick back ponytail as your new game day hair. Like… permanently.

I hit send, exhaling as I locked my phone. Out of sight, out of mind. I just needed to get through the rest of the game without combusting.

———

Paige didn’t see the message until hours later.

After the game, she had her usual post-game press conference, with Kk and Azzii answering questions about UConn’s dominant win, her own performance, and how it felt playing without her signature braids.

Then came the locker room celebrations, the team hyping each other up, the post-game shower, and finally—finally—Paige was back at our shared off-campus apartment.

Freshly showered, she walked into the bedroom with a towel around her neck, only in her black Nike sports bra and grey boxers sitting perfectly on her waist line, scrolling through her phone finally checking all her notifications.

I was sitting on the bed, scrolling mindlessly myself, until I saw her pause.

Her head tilted. "What the hell?"

I tried to act innocent. "What?"

Paige turned her phone towards me, revealing my very suggestive text from earlier. "This," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Headlock? Really?"

I shrugged, unbothered. "You read it. You know what I said."

She huffed out a laugh, tossing her phone onto the nightstand before crawling onto the bed. She hovered over me, arms on either side of my head, that damn ponytail still sleek even after her shower.

"So," Paige mused, voice dropping slightly. "You liked the ponytail, huh?"

I reached up, running my fingers over the base of it where she had secured it with a black hair tie. "Liked? Understatement."

Paige smirked, dipping down to press a lingering kiss to my jaw. "Liked it enough to text me during halftime about puttin yo ass in a headlock?"

I exhaled sharply. "I was having a moment."

She kissed the corner of my mouth, teasing me. "Mhm. And what kind of headlock we talking about?"

I rolled my eyes, pushing her lightly. "Don’t play with me, Bueckers."

Paige chuckled, finally kissing me for real, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against mine. "So… ponytail again next game?"

I nodded immediately. "Absolutely, baby it’s your secret weapon."

She smirked, leaned closer, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered, "Anything for you, baby. Especially when I get to have my way with you afterward."

I shivered at her words, my heart racing with anticipation. There was something intoxicating about the way she claimed me, the way she took charge. I loved every moment of it, even if it made me feel vulnerable.

Paige stood up suddenly, her playful demeanor shifting into something more commanding. “Come here,” she instructed, her voice firm yet sultry. I followed her, curiosity piqued, as she led me to the full-length mirror on the wall, right next to the bed.

“Look at yourself,” she murmured, her fingers brushing against my neck as she turned me to face the glass. I could see the reflection of us, a flush creeping across my cheeks. “You’re beautiful,” she said, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “But I want you to see what I see.”

Before I could respond, she slowly pulling my satan mini sleep dress, off revealing my body to herself as if she was claming a prize. My heart raced as I realized her intentions. “Paige…” I started, but her smirk silenced me.

“Shh,” she said, a playful glint in her eye. “Trust me, watch me the whole time, ma. ” She walked to the other bed side table to pull out the purple stap, taking the boxers off and expertly securing it around her waist.

I watched her through the Mirror not taking my eyes of her once.

“Now,” she said, walking back to me and now her breath warm against my neck, “I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and think about how good you can be for me.”

She wrapped her strong arms around me, pulling me back against her chest, and I found my breath catching in my throat as I felt her biceps flex around my head.

“Paige, I—”

“Good girls do what they’re told,” she interrupted playfully, flexing her biceps around my chin so I could look up see my own reflection. “Look at you. So pretty, so willing. You’re perfect just like this.”

I gazed into the mirror, my heart pounding as I saw the way she held me—her strength juxtaposed against my vulnerability. I felt a rush of heat surge through me.

“Tell me what you see,” Paige urged, her voice steady yet sultry. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I see…” I hesitated, caught between the thrill of her hold and the desire to please her. “I see… me. I see us.”

“Good girl,” she praised, her voice dripping with satisfaction. I could feel the tension in her body, the way she leaned into me, the heat radiating off her. “Now, tell me how much you want me.”

“I want you, Paige,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. The honesty of my desire sent a thrill through me, igniting a fire that burned deep within. “I want you to fuck me.”

“See? Was that so hard?” she teased, her lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re learning.”

Paige turned me slightly, enough that I could see her in the mirror too. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she gazed down at me, and I felt a rush of exhilaration at being at her mercy. “Now, I want you to remember this moment. How it feels to be my good girl.”

With that, she pressed her lips against mine, capturing me in a kiss that was both sweet and demanding. I melted against her, surrendering fully to the sensation of her body against mine. Each kiss deepened my desire, igniting a passion that coursed through my veins.

“Look at us,” she murmured between kisses, her voice low and seductive. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Together, we create magic.”

Once back on the bed she had me face down ass up, still facibg the mirror.

I gasped as she took her tongue and gave my much needy pussy attention, “You’re so beautiful like this,” she whispered, her breath warm against my thigh just before kissing and biting at it. “I want to make you feel everything.”

After a few mins of practically making out with my pussy, Paige, pulling me up by my hair before locking my head in her biceps again, her lips brushing against my ear as she trailed kisses along my jawline and neck. I could feel her warmth, her desire, and it sent waves of pleasure coursing through me. “Tell me how it feels, and don't be quiet about it either, baby” she instructed, her voice a tantalizing whisper.

“Good,” I breathed, my heart racing. “It feels so good.”

“Good girls deserve to be rewarded,” she replied, her lips curling into a smirk. “And you’ve been so very good, so keep watching in the mirror for me, yeah mamas”

She guided my gaze back to the mirror, forcing me to watch as she explored my body, her hands roaming, her kisses igniting every nerve. “Look at how much you crave this,” she teased, her voice a sultry melody. “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasped, the thrill of her words sending me spiraling deeper into desire.

“Then let’s make this a night to remember,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief and passion.

Before I could fully process her movements, she had me pinned, face down ass up into the satan sheets, every inch of my body electrified by her touch. The strap slid deeper, an intoxicating sensation that made my heart race and my mind spin.

I could feel every pulse, every inch of her as she filled me, her confidence radiating through the air. Letting out a groan as if she could actually feel me clenching around her. “Fuck, baby you takin my dick so good. Pussy just swallowin me whole, shit.”

“Paige…” I managed to whisper, but the words were swallowed by the thick tension that hung between us. My body was responding, every nerve ending alive with the thrill of the moment. She held me captive, and I was more than willing to surrender.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me as she thrust deeper, the rhythm slow at first but building in intensity. I could hear her breathing, a mix of pleasure and desire, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re so perfect for me,” she murmured, a sultry smile playing on her lips. “I could do this forever.”

With every thrust, she drew me closer to a precipice I had only ever dreamed of. The world outside faded away; there was nothing but the two of us, lost in our own universe. I could feel the heat pooling within me, a delicious tension building that threatened to consume us both.

“God, you feel so good,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire. “I want you to look in the mirror when you cum f'me. Watch yourself fall apart on my shit, ma.”

I surrendered completely, allowing myself to be swept up in the waves of pleasure she was creating. The way she moved, the way she filled me—it was intoxicating. I could feel every inch of her, the connection between us palpable, electric. It was as if we were two bodies entwined in a dance as old as time, a rhythm that only we could hear.

“Paige, I…” My words faltered as she hit a spot that made my entire body quiver. I could feel the tension building, spiraling higher and higher until it felt like I might burst.

“Shh, just look in the mirror and feel,” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. “I’ve got you.”

Her words were like a spell, wrapping around me and pulling me deeper into the moment. I lost myself completely, every thought dissolving into a haze of pure ecstasy. Looking into the mirror watching with way she had my arms pinned behind my back, the determination on her face to make me feel so full. Watching the way my juices leaked on the bed, the way the base of the strap milky white from the way she was pounding me into the bed. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was the connection between us, the way she moved, the way she touched me.

As she pushed deeper, I could feel the heat rising more and more, the pressure building within me. I was teetering on the edge, and I could sense that she was too. And as a last minute act she put me in a headlock again, hips still hitting all the right spot. “Yes, just like that, watch yourself f'me” she urged, her voice a low, sultry whisper. “Let go for me. Yeah ma, cum on my dick.”

With a final thrust, everything exploded, watching myself fall apart on the purple strap. I felt the world around me shatter into a million pieces, the sensation overwhelming and all-consuming. Waves of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me breathless and trembling.

“Just like that, baby. That’s it,” Paige encouraged, her voice a sultry murmur that was so encouraging that I could cum again. “You’re so beautiful when you cum, f'me baby.”

I could hardly respond, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure that coursed through me. I felt her slow down, her movements becoming gentle as she brought me back down from the high. My head resting back on her shoulder for a few seconds before I look at our sweat, cum dripping bodies, in awe

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern flickering in her eyes as they met mine through the mirror.

I nodded, still catching my breath. “More than okay,” I whispered, a smile breaking across my face. “That was incredible.”

Her lips curled into a playful grin, and I could see the satisfaction shining in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. But I’m not done with you yet.”

Before I could fully comprehend her words, she shifted her body, and mine her movements fluid and graceful. The strap was still there, a reminder of the connection we shared, and as she positioned herself above me, as I am now on my back, I felt the excitement build once more.

“Just relax and enjoy the ride,” she said, her voice low and enticing.

With that, she began to move again, her body rocking against mine in a way that sent shivers coursing through me. Every thrust was deliberate, every movement intentional, and I could feel myself responding, eager to meet her rhythm.

“God, you’re amazing,” she breathed, her eyes locked onto mine. The intensity of her gaze sent another wave of heat through me, igniting the fire that had only just begun to simmer.

“Paige, you have no idea…” I gasped, my hands finding their way to her hips, guiding her as I tried to keep up with her pace.

We were lost in each other, the world outside fading away once more. The tension built again, a delicious spiral that threatened to consume us both. I could feel the heat rising, the pressure coiling within me, and I knew we were nearing the edge once more.

“Just a little more,” she urged, her breath coming in quick gasps as she pushed herself closer, her voice laced with urgency. “I want to feel you again.”

With her words, I was gone, the tension breaking like a dam as the pleasure rushed over me once more. I could feel her reach her peak too, our bodies connected in a way that felt transcendent.

As we collapsed together, breathless and spent, I couldn’t help but smile. In that moment, everything felt right. We were two souls intertwined, lost in the heat of desire and the sweetness of connection.

“Wow,” I managed to say, a laugh escaping my lips. “What just happened?”

Paige chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “Just a little magic,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And I think we should do it again.”

I grinned, my heart racing at the thought. “I’m all in.”

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (now skeptical!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: I’ve already outlined the entire thing–now it’s just a matter of writing it, so don’t worry! Even if some chapters take me longer to update, I’m gonna finish this one way or another. Promise. *fingers crossed* Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, reader thinks she’s losing her marbles because of a certain someone

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“Alright—okay, don’t be stupid,” You chant to yourself as you pace restlessly from the kitchen area of your studio, to the coffee table where you’ve set your phone lying facedown. “Just open the damn thing.” 

You’ve just arrived back at the condo a little past seven PM after a, frankly, productive—if not slightly distracted—day of running errands. You’re home, and you haven’t even got to unpacking the two paper bags (and a box) worth of groceries that were all but thrown carelessly on the kitchen counter, and already, you’re back to stressing over all the weird shit that's been happening to you.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried your hardest to resist the urge to check your phone, especially whenever you see the screen light up—whether it was in your hand or stashed away in your half-zipped fanny pack.

It’s at the most random times too, but always when you act on your unfortunate tendency to monologue your thoughts out loud. 

Sure, it could just be some random push app notifications. Text messages from the few people that hit you up on the weekends—invitations to hang out, maybe. A few newsletters you forgot to unsubscribe from if you’re unlucky. 

But you think the timing’s far too deliberate to be purely coincidental. 

“Do I get a dozen eggs or just half? What do I even need a dozen for?” (Phone vibrates)

“Oh, hey, Indomie’s on sale if you buy in bulk. How much for a box?” (Screen flashes. Twice.)

“Who the hell is holding up the line, damn–oh, it’s an old lady. Better hurry the fuck up, grandma.” (Screen flashes) “...Sorry! I didn’t mean that.” 

“Ughhh… my tummy hurty…” (Phone vibrates) “What—” 

“Everything’s perfectly normal. Just your average, sunny Saturday! You are an independent, capable adult… who’s fucking losing it.” (Screen flashes– after a minute interval) 

Of course, you have an inkling as to what’s—or who’s—blowing your phone up; in fact, he’s never left your mind since this morning.

So presently, you’re in the middle of having a small existential crisis over what that means, for you and your sanity. No big deal. 

You puff out your cheeks for a couple of seconds before letting out a deep breath. Don’t be a pussy. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all of this. You’re— you’re not crazy. 

Landing heavily down in front of the low table, you finally grab your phone, hand shaking with the teensiest amount of trepidation. Not giving yourself any more time to think and second-guess, you flip it over, switching it back to Ring mode as you swipe up to see—

—a barrage of notifications; one popping up after another. 

Some of them are what you’ve expected: plain, old push notifications from banking apps, others from varying socials. There’s one from your mom. A reminder to email her the flight tickets you still haven’t gotten around to booking yet. 

And. Six banner notifications from the game. From… from—him. It’s something you’ve already braced yourself for. It doesn’t prepare you, however, for what they actually said. 

A knot grows in your chest, spreading rapidly like slithering twine as your mind tries, and somewhat fails, to make sense of what your eyes are seeing. 

Grab a dozen, sweetie. It won’t add much to the total cost, and you need that protein every morning. Cereal’s not gonna cut it. 

You really ought to lessen your sodium intake, kitten. (and) Do NOT get the box. Stop. 

Haha. A feisty one, aren’t you? 

Mmm, poor baby.

I– we can talk about this later when you get home.

Each notification contains a completely unique dialogue you’ve never seen before. A play-by-play commentary specifically in response to you—to your personal remarks from earlier, spoken out loud—that there is absolutely no way anyone could still pass this off as simply being system-generated. 

A faint ringing echoes in your ears as you slowly draw back, putting some distance between the onslaught of text and… you. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the screen, though. Even if the back of your head bumps against the seat edge of the sofa behind you from how far you’ve already leaned back. 

Blinking in stunned silence, the only thing you could croak out is a strained “what the fuuuck.” 

... Ping!

Still mustering the courage to face me? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling. 

The sudden message jolts you back to reality. You suck in a deep breath.

… Despite everything, you can’t help but find his nonchalant response to your gradual spiral into hysterics—because he knows—a little amusing. Also rude. But mostly funny. 

(It’s also probably just your brain’s last-ditch effort to find some semblance of control, but whatever.)

At this point, you know that you’re merely delaying the inevitable. Swallowing, you press on one of Sylus’ messages and it immediately boots up the game. 

Instead of soothing your nerves like it usually does, the orchestral background music from the loading screen puts you more on edge; your anxiety builds up to a crescendo, harmonious to the heralding of what you know will undoubtedly change the trajectory of your life. 

Dramatic, but true. 

48%... 82%... 98%...

There’s a hollow drop in your stomach when the screen—finally—reveals the familiar sight of the café. The golden ambient light enters your field of vision for a split second before your eyes flit reflexively to the man standing in the middle of the screen, whose presence commandeered your full attention.

He’s wearing his motorcycle jacket—the black one with the red and white thorn(?) accents, paired along the pair of leather pants with the iconic double zipper. Aside from the black zircon studs, he’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary. Nothing is looking out of the ordinary, actually. 

Holding your breath, you wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you waiting for me to say hello? Then–” Sylus muses with an amused lilt to his voice, sauntering closer to flick “your” forehead. There’s a beat before he continues: “That’s my way of saying hello.” 

… Huh? 

That’s—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You… you don’t know what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it.

The man in front of you doesn’t look any different from how he usually does; the way that his… character animation (Should you call it that? It doesn’t seem right, given the circumstance, but you don’t know how best to describe anything anymore) flows is so–-so infuriatingly… normal. As if it’s just like any other day that you’ve logged in the game. 

Where did the sentience go? Why is he reciting lines he’s programmed to say? None of it adds up.

Your mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out. With wide eyes, you helplessly gape at him. Speechless. For a moment, you feel like you’ve actually gone mad. 

A small “what’s happening?” slips past your lips. Your eyes dart across his face, trying to analyze every microexpression, any hint of sentience on him—in his eyes, in his movements. 

You find none. 

Mechanically, you exit the game.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper-shout at nothing in particular, and maybe to the biggest cause of your current disconcertion; one who you thought… Who you were sure was—

-

-

Fuck it. It’s time to put your detective skills to work.

[tinybeetiny]

Apologies: OT8

Apologies from part 1

->Starring: OT8!AteezxReader ->Genre: Angst with comfort, ->Cw: Someone says shitty...., more angst but, as the title says, with apologies

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

Seonghwa:

It had been days since you’d spoken. Really spoken.

The texts were dry, short, practical. The calls were missed. The weight of his last words — “You’re just too clingy sometimes” — hadn’t faded. They echoed in your head, over and over, every time you hovered over his contact name, too afraid to reach out again and be met with silence.

So when the knock came at your door well past midnight, you hesitated.

But you knew that knock. Soft. Hesitant. Him.

You opened the door to find Seonghwa standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, eyes downcast like he didn’t know if he was allowed to look at you.

“I shouldn’t be here this late,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t know where else to go.”

You said nothing. Just stepped aside, letting him in.

He didn’t sit. He hovered in the center of the room like he wasn’t sure he had the right to make himself comfortable.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said finally. “About what I said. About how I made you feel.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Took you long enough.”

“I know,” he whispered.

Silence. He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, eyes flickering to you.

“I always thought that loving someone meant being strong, being steady, not depending on anyone too much. So when you wanted more, more time, more attention, more of me. I told myself you were being too much because I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t giving enough.”

He looked at you then, and his eyes were tired. But soft.

“You weren’t clingy,” he said. “You were present. You loved me so openly, and I made you feel like that was a flaw.”

Your throat tightened.

He stepped forward slowly. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to dial your love down to be enough for me.”

Your eyes burned, but you didn’t look away.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right now,” he said, voice cracking. “But if you let me — I want to learn how to show up the way you do. Not just when it’s convenient. All the time.”

He finally sat, carefully, like he was afraid he might break the air between you.

“I don’t want to lose someone who gives love so fearlessly. Just because I was too afraid to give it back the same way.”

You didn’t speak right away.

But when you reached for his hand, he took it like it was the first thing grounding him in days.

Hongjoong:

It started with a message.

Not a call. Not a knock at your door. Just a text. Short. Almost too casual.

Hongjoong [2:03 PM]: hey… can we talk? maybe dinner tonight? my treat

You read it, then locked your phone.

He didn’t follow up with a second message. No explanation. No “I’m sorry.” Just a quiet request to meet, like that was enough to erase the weeks of feeling like you were always the one chasing after him.

Like his “is this about me not texting you back fast enough?” hadn’t gutted you the last time you saw him.

The silence that followed your heartbreak had been intentional. For once, you weren’t going to rush in with understanding or comfort. Not this time.

So you didn’t reply.

Not for ten minutes.

Not for an hour.

Not for four.

On the other side of the screen, Hongjoong’s knee was bouncing under the studio desk. His phone sat beside him, screen dark, taunting him.

Four hours.

He’d stared at your name. At the “Read 2:04 PM” notification.

He’d wanted to wait you out, tell himself you were just busy. Tell himself that you’d always forgiven him before, even when you shouldn’t have. That this time would be no different.

But something in his chest started to crack. Something cold.

Because deep down, he knew.

He knew this time wasn’t like before.

He drove to your place without texting again. Parked outside. Waited. Then walked up and knocked on your door.

When you opened it, he saw the shift immediately. Your expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t emotional. It was polite. Careful. Distant.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep it light. “You got my message, right?”

You nodded once. “I did.”

“And…?”

“I wasn’t sure if I should go.”

The words were calm, flat, the same tone he used to take when you’d ask if he was free and he’d say, “I’ll let you know.”

He swallowed. “I wanted to apologize.”

You didn’t step aside to let him in. You didn’t even shift your weight.

He fidgeted. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I said. About how I dismissed you. About how you used to reach out to me all the time and I’d just… reply when I felt like it. If I replied at all.”

Silence.

“I thought I was just busy. I thought you’d understand. But the truth is, I took you for granted. I thought you’d always be there.”

You didn’t react. Not even a flinch.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “And then today… when you left me on read for hours…”

He let out a breath. “So this is what it feels like, huh?”

Your eyes flicked up at that. Something in your jaw shifted. But you still didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you were too much. Like your love was inconvenient.”

His voice lowered.

“I miss you. And not just the version of you that always sent me good luck texts or made dinner reservations when I forgot, I miss the you who believed in me even when I didn’t show up for you.”

You leaned against the doorframe. Not moving. Not softening.

And that’s when he got it, really got it.

Because now, he was the one waiting. The one hoping for warmth. The one left on read.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me right now. You don’t have to be ready. But I want to fix this. I want to stop treating you like a second thought and start treating you like you deserve.”

He paused, swallowing hard.

“Dinner’s still on the table. If you’ll come.”

The silence stretched for a beat. Then two.

Finally, you opened the door just a little wider.

“Where?” you asked, voice quiet but steady.

He blinked. “What?”

“Where’s dinner?”

Hope bloomed fast in his chest, raw, real, and maybe still fragile, but there.

He gave a half-laugh, half-breath of disbelief. “Anywhere you want.”

You stepped inside to grab your jacket without another word. But the door stayed open behind you.

And for the first time in a long time, Hongjoong understood exactly what it meant when someone shows up even after being hurt.

Because you did.

And this time, so would he.

Yunho:

You hadn’t seen him since the day he ended things.

He hadn’t yelled. There weren’t tears or a dramatic scene. Just that same calm voice he always used, too calm, like he was trying to stay numb.

“Maybe we’re not right for each other anymore.”

You’d stood there frozen. Because it wasn’t a fight. There wasn’t something to argue against. He had just walked out. Quietly. Like it wouldn’t hurt forever.

And for the past three weeks, you’d done everything you could to keep moving, but your chest never stopped feeling heavy.

So when the knock came, you almost didn’t answer it. Some part of you still hoped it was him, but hoping hurt.

And yet… it was him.

Yunho stood outside your door, hood pulled up, cap low, eyes glassy and red-rimmed like he hadn’t slept in days. His breath fogged in the evening air, but he didn’t speak, not at first.

He just looked at you, mouth slightly parted, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be here.

“You left,” you said, voice low and flat.

“I know,” he whispered. “But I never really let go.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t invite him in. So he stood there, taking it, whatever you were ready to give, or not give at all.

“I broke up with you thinking it would make life easier,” he said. “That if we weren’t together, I’d have more time, less pressure, fewer expectations.”

He swallowed hard.

“But all I did was tear it apart. My days feel longer. My bed feels empty. And everything I used to love doesn’t make me feel anything now.”

You looked at him then, and the pain on his face nearly cracked you open.

“I kept telling myself you needed too much,” he went on, voice trembling. “But the truth is… I was the one who needed more. More patience. More strength. More you.”

His chest rose and fell shakily.

“You were never asking for too much. You just asked me to show up. To try. And I ran.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to crumble.

“I miss your voice in the morning. I miss your socks mixed in with mine. I miss knowing someone out there saw me, really saw me, and still stayed.”

His voice broke.

“I thought I could be okay without you. But I can’t. I don’t want to learn how.”

The silence between you buzzed like static.

“I’m not asking to erase what I did. I’m not asking you to forget how I hurt you. I just…” he stepped forward, breath catching, “I just need you to know, if there’s any part of you that still wants me, I’ll spend every day proving I won’t walk away again.”

And when you didn’t answer, he didn’t beg.

He just stood there, waiting. Willing to face the ache he left you with, even if all you gave him in return was the door slowly closing.

Yeosang:

You weren’t sure why you expected anything different from tonight.

You had tried, gently, to bring it up. How distant he’d been lately. How you felt like you were loving him through a fog, always reaching, never quite touching. You hadn’t raised your voice. You hadn’t accused him of anything.

But somewhere in the middle of your sentence, Yeosang had sighed and said:

“Why does everything have to be so dramatic with you?”

He hadn’t even looked at you when he said it. Just stared at his phone. Barely blinking. Barely present.

The silence that followed was heavier than any shouting match.

An hour passed. You expected the front door to open and close with him leaving. But instead…

A knock.

Soft. Three quick taps. Then stillness.

You didn’t move at first. But then

“Can I come in?” His voice was quiet, muffled by the wood. Not demanding. Not confident. Careful.

You opened the door slowly.

He looked… small. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His bottom lip was bitten red. And his eyes, his eyes wouldn’t quite meet yours.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he started. “About you being dramatic.”

You waited.

“I didn’t mean it. Not even a little.”

He stepped inside, slowly, hands in his hoodie sleeves, unsure of what to do with them. “You weren’t overreacting. You weren’t picking a fight. You were telling me how you feel, and I… dismissed it.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“I think sometimes I freeze when I don’t know how to respond. I act cold. Detached. Like that makes me look in control.” He finally looked at you, really looked. “But all it does is make the people who care about me feel like I don’t care back.”

You blinked, throat tight.

“I wasn’t taking you seriously. I wasn’t taking us seriously. Not tonight. Not the way I should’ve.”

He stepped a little closer, then stopped himself. “But I am now.”

There was a long pause. Then, with a shaky breath:

“You were right. I’ve been distant. I didn’t want to admit it because I don’t have a good reason for it. I’ve just been in my own head and shutting you out instead of letting you in.”

His voice dropped even lower, rough around the edges.

“You didn’t make everything dramatic. You made everything real. And I made you feel like your feelings were an inconvenience.”

The silence between you cracked a little when he added, softly

“I’m sorry.”

He held out his hand like he wasn’t sure you’d take it. “If I promise to really try, not just to listen, but to hear you, would you let me stay? Even if it’s just for tonight?”

You didn’t answer right away.

But the way he was looking at you, finally, fully, made you feel seen again.

And maybe that was the apology you needed more than anything.

San:

It had started small.

You’d reached for his hand in the kitchen, trying to slow him down, trying to talk about how you’d been feeling like he wasn’t really present lately, like his body was here but his mind was always somewhere else. On tour. In the studio. On his phone.

You’d said, “I just miss you.”

And he’d pulled his hand back like your touch burned.

“Why do you always need so much from me?”

That stopped everything.

You blinked, stunned. He wasn’t yelling, but it felt louder than any scream. You opened your mouth, but the rest of your words got caught somewhere in your chest. Instead, you walked away. Into the bedroom. Closed the door behind you, because if you didn’t, you’d fall apart in front of him.

San didn’t follow.

Not at first.

The door stayed shut. The apartment stayed quiet.

Until—

A knock.

Then his voice, muffled, low, wrecked:

“Baby, please open the door.”

You hesitated. You were still shaking. Still hearing his voice in your head, repeating that question like a cruel loop. Why do you always need so much from me?

But something about the sound of his voice, the crack in it, made you reach for the handle.

You opened the door to find San leaning against the frame, hands braced on either side like he was barely holding himself up. His eyes were rimmed with red. His cheeks flushed with emotion he couldn’t hide if he tried.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said immediately, desperately. “God, I didn’t mean it.”

You didn’t say a word. Your silence hit harder than any yelling ever could.

“I was overwhelmed and I said the first shitty, cowardly thing that came into my mouth. And the second I said it, I wanted to rip the words out of the air.”

He took a step closer, but didn’t touch you. “You don’t ask for too much. You never have. You ask for me. My time. My heart. And I’ve been so wrapped up in everything else, I forgot what it means to actually give that.”

He shook his head, jaw tight like he was trying not to cry.

“You tell me you miss me and I treat it like a burden? What the hell is wrong with me?”

Your throat burned.

He took a breath and pressed his palm flat against his chest. “It’s not that you ask too much of me. It’s that I’ve been giving you so little lately, it feels like anything at all is too much.”

His eyes met yours, glossy and pained.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I love you so much that it terrifies me. And sometimes when I feel like I’m failing you, I push instead of pulling you closer.”

He wiped at his face, chest heaving. “But I’m done doing that. If you’ll let me… I want to be better. For you. For us.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. His eyes followed it all the way down like it killed him to see it.

“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness right away,” he whispered. “But please — just tell me I didn’t ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You stepped forward, slowly. Just enough that he didn’t have to guess.

And this time, when he reached for your hand, it wasn’t to pull away.

It was to hold on.

Mingi:

It had been days since the argument.

Only… it hadn’t been much of an argument. It had been you, speaking honestly, telling him that lately, you felt like a ghost in his life. Like you were always the one reaching out, always the one waiting. Waiting for a call, a text, a sign that he saw you.

And him?

He hadn’t fought. He hadn’t begged. He’d barely said anything at all.

Just clenched his jaw. Sat there. Silent.

You’d waited for something. Anything.

But all he gave you was quiet.

So you left.

He didn’t stop you.

And that silence, the one that followed, was worse than the one during the argument. Because now it stretched between two broken hearts.

Until tonight.

You were sitting on your bedroom floor, back against the bed, scrolling through old photos you’d told yourself not to look at. Laughing selfies. Half-blurry videos of him rapping under his breath in the car. Messages from nights when he used to say goodnight, love you without fail.

Then a knock.

You froze.

And when you opened the door, there he was.

Mingi. Hoodie damp from the light rain outside. Shoulders hunched, eyes red, hands wringing the hem of his sleeves like he needed something to hold onto.

“I didn’t know if you’d answer,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”

You didn’t speak. Not yet. He didn’t expect you to.

“I’ve never been good at saying things when I need to,” he started, voice trembling. “Sometimes I feel too much all at once, and it chokes me. And when you were telling me how you felt… I just sat there. Because I didn’t know how to fix it. And instead of trying, I shut down.”

His eyes were shining.

“I wasn’t cold because I didn’t care. I was quiet because I didn’t know how to show you that I did. But that’s not fair to you.”

He stepped closer, slowly.

“You told me you felt invisible. That you were tired of always being the one who reached out. And I should’ve said something. Anything. But I let the silence answer for me, and it said all the wrong things.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but your lips stayed still.

He took a shaky breath. “I didn’t say it, but I felt it. I felt everything. I just… didn’t know how to show you.”

He lifted his eyes to yours, voice breaking.

“And then you walked away. And for the first time, I understood what silence really sounds like.”

He reached out, slow and careful, like he didn’t expect you to reach back.

“I don’t want to go another day wondering if I’ve lost the one person who loved me anyway. Loved me even when I wasn’t making it easy.”

The rain outside tapped against the windows like it was waiting too.

“If there’s still a piece of you that wants this, I swear, I’ll never leave you wondering again.”

And maybe he hadn’t said much before. Maybe he’d stayed quiet when it mattered most.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was finally speaking the words that had been living in the ache of his chest all along.

Wooyoung:

It started subtly.

A missed good morning text, just one. Then two. Then three.

No updates about what you were eating for lunch. No late-night selfies. No rambling voice notes about how your day went, or the weird cat you saw on the way home, or how your barista spelled your name hilariously wrong again.

At first, Wooyoung didn’t panic.

He figured you were busy. Or maybe your phone had died. You were always a little scatterbrained. He thought it was cute.

But by day four, the silence started to weigh differently.

He scrolled through your past messages, his own replies now glaring. A string of dry responses. A few late replies. Some heart emojis sent on autopilot. He started to see patterns — moments he brushed off your excitement, teased your need for check-ins with lines like:

“You really text me more than my mom.

You always laughed them off. Or so he thought.

Until tonight.

He called. For the first time in a while, it rang. You picked up.

“Hey,” your voice came through flat. Tired. Nothing like how it used to be, all soft affection and brightness just from hearing his name.

Wooyoung sat up in bed, heart kicking into gear. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet lately.”

You hesitated. And that pause told him more than any words could.

“I just…” you finally said, “I didn’t want to be annoying. Or clingy. I figured I’d give you some space.”

Wooyoung’s heart stopped.

Your voice was distant, not cold, just… careful. Like you’d started building walls, brick by brick, while he wasn’t paying attention.

And then the realization hit.

His whole “God, you’re obsessed with me, aren’t you?” comment.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” you added quietly. “You probably enjoyed that I didn’t text anyway.”

“Stop,” he breathed, sitting up straighter, the words catching in his throat. “Don’t say that. Please.”

There was silence on your end. So he filled it.

He stood, pacing now, like movement might slow the panic rising in his chest.

“I could see you were pulling away, and I didn’t know why. But now I do. It’s because of me. Because I was too caught up in being cute or funny or whatever the hell I thought I was — and I made you feel like your love was too much.”

You didn’t interrupt. Maybe because you didn’t believe him yet. Or maybe because part of you had been waiting for this — for him to see it.

“I thought it was harmless. I never meant to make you second-guess how you show up for me. I loved those messages. I love the way you care, the way you never make me guess how you feel.”

His voice cracked.

“You were never obsessive. Never clingy. You were consistent. You were present. And I was a goddamn idiot for not realizing how rare that is.”

Another beat passed. And then, gently:

“I miss you. I miss all of you — not just your messages, but the way you never hesitated to love me. Please don’t take that part of you away. Not because of me.”

Your breath hitched on the other end of the line.

“I’ll do better,” he promised. “I’ll be better. If you give me the chance.”

And for once, Wooyoung didn’t try to make it light. No joke. No wink. Just truth, raw and bare.

Because now, he knew better than to laugh at the kind of love most people spend a lifetime looking for.

Jongho:

He thought this was best for him, for the both of you.

Being apart would calm the frustration, the tension, the ache he couldn’t put into words.

So when he let you walk away, it wasn’t because he didn’t love you. It was because he didn’t know how to love you right, and instead of learning, he chose distance.

But the silence didn’t bring him peace.

It brought emptiness.

No more texts. No more playful eye rolls when he tried to hide a smile. No more soft hands reaching for his when he thought no one was looking. Just quiet. Cold, hollow quiet.

And the worst part? You didn’t come back.

Not after a few days.

Not after a week.

He thought you might. He thought maybe you’d fight for him, call him out like you always did. But this time, you respected his words. You gave him what he asked for.

And now he was the one left behind.

It was late when he showed up at your door. No text. No warning.

His hoodie was pulled tight over his head, eyes shadowed under the porch light. He looked nervous, the kind of nervous you only get when pride has been stripped away, when all that’s left is want.

You opened the door and froze.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, shoulders tense, eyes unreadable.

Then:

“Hey.”

Your arms crossed instinctively, more out of habit than hostility. “Why are you here, Jongho?”

He exhaled. “I… I thought I was doing the right thing.”

You didn’t answer.

“But every day since you left—” He paused, jaw tight. “—I’ve wanted you to come back. I just didn’t know if I deserved you.”

Your brows knit together. “Now you’re deciding this? After you told me I was too much, that I needed too much?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I was overwhelmed. I felt like I was drowning in everything — practice, expectations, and yeah… us. But not because of you. Because I wasn’t letting myself lean on you.”

You stared at him. He looked different. Tired. Softer. But still him.

“Then why say those things?”

“Because I was scared,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “Of needing someone. Of letting myself be vulnerable. You were always so sure — about us, about me — and I… wasn’t. You're not exhausting to love, I was making it exhausting”

Your expression faltered.

“I thought pushing you away would give me control,” he continued. “But all it did was make me miserable.”

Silence stretched between you, taut and fragile.

“I was wrong,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

You looked away, blinking quickly. “You hurt me.”

“I know,” he said immediately. “And I hate myself for it. I know I can’t undo that. But if you still have anything left in your heart for me… anything at all… I want to try again.”

You didn’t respond right away. The pain was still there, fresh enough that your walls hadn’t come down yet. But something in you cracked, seeing the way he looked at you now. The regret in his posture. The hope barely hanging on.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you said softly.

He nodded, eyes glinting. “Then I’ll earn it. Day by day. Even if you don’t forgive me tonight.”

Another long pause.

Then you opened the door a little wider.

“Come in.”

Jongho stepped forward like he couldn’t believe it. His hand brushed yours lightly as he passed, hesitant, asking permission even in the smallest ways.

And maybe the pain wasn’t gone.

Maybe it wouldn’t be for a while.

But sometimes, love returns, not loudly, but slowly. Carefully. With trembling hands and quiet hearts that still believe in healing.

And Jongho was ready to fight for it.

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[dameronspector]

Calling them by something else than your nickname for them

Pairings: All x GN!Reader

Summary: this is basically inspired by that trend where people call their partners by their names instead of nicknames and because I’ve tried this on my bf, and he gets sad everytime LOL!

Warnings: Brief angst for Bob and Bucky but otherwise, it’s just cutesy stuff <3 wrote this in a hurry, hope y’all like it! please like and reblog 🤭

divider by @saradika

Joaquin Torres

There was this trend going around lately, where people called their partners with their name instead of nicknames. And you just knew that you had to try this on Joaquin because 1) he lived to hear you call him ‘Quino’ or ‘Jay’ or ‘Baby’ and 2) you only called him Joaquin when you had something serious to discuss or when the two of you were fighting.

Letting out a giggle, you decided to try this on him through text first. It was a Sunday, so he was out in the gym with Sam while you were lounging around in your shared bedroom, enjoying a day off from work.

You: Joaquin.

You: Could you go to the store and get some bread? We’re out, and we need it for the sandwich we’re making today.

You knew that he had a special ringtone for your text notifications, so you didn’t have to wait that long before he replied back.

And you were right, approximately a minute later, he replied back and you burst out in laughter.

Quino 💟: ?

Quino 💟: did something happen? are you okay?

Quino 💟: did I do something?

You: ..no? Why?

Quino 💟: 😟

Quino 💟: im coming home

You almost felt bad for freaking him out like that. Almost.

The door opened a few minutes later and—

“Baby?”, he called out as his feet pattered against the hardwood floors, quickly making his way around the apartment to get to you.

You bit your cheek to stop from laughing in his face, busying yourself with your phone by pretending to read something on it.

He finally entered the bedroom, chest heaving from how he had basically ran here, hands resting on his hips and you were so sure his cheeks were splotched with red from the work out.

"Hey, angel?", he called you once again, his voice coming out in a breathy manner.

You hummed and finally looked at him. His toned arms glistening with sweat, the tank top stretched tight across his form and his body glowing with sweat, curls falling into breathtaking waves around his head and a cute dent in between his brows.

It's annoying how gorgeous he is.

"Are you okay?"

You furrowed your brows, "Why do you keep asking that, Joaquin?"

He winced. His mouth tugged into a frown and brown eyes blown wide. You almost gave up.

"Did--did I do somethin'?", he asked in worry, making his way over to the bed and sitting down in front of you, hands restlessly braced against his thighs, twitching to hold yours in his.

You feigned confusion, "What-Joaquin, if something was-"

"That!", he interrupted you loudly, looking at you incredulously.

You blinked, "That, what?"

He groaned like a child, this close to stomping his feet, his face adorably scrunched up in annoyance, "You keep calling me Joaquin!", and he pouted.

You pursed your lips, "Joaquin, come on, is that not your name?", eyes sparkling with mischief.

His eyes widened again, hands coming up to cradle your face in them and he leaned close, "Angel, stop that! That's not my name. It's Quino or Baby to you", he stressed, face melting into confusion and sadness both.

You took a good look at his saddened face, brown eyes looking at you like a kicked puppy, his plush lips twisted into a frown and voice so soft that you couldn't help but let out a sweet giggle.

He sulked even further and you finally put your hands on his face, unable to resist from consoling him any longer. He tilted his head in confusion at your reaction.

"I'm sorry, baby. It was just a prank", you confessed in between giggles.

He perked up at the nickname, eyes blinking in realisation before he groaned, "You're mean", his cheeks squished by your hands, lips molded into a pout because of it.

You scrunched your nose, "Maybe. But you, are so cute", you cooed and leaned in to kiss his lips and cheeks.

"Don't do that again. I was so worried", he muttered lowly, leaning into the kisses you pressed to his cheeks, hands coming around your waist to hold you close.

You breathed a laugh against the swell of his cheek before moving to his forehead and peppering soft kisses on it. You pulled back and looked at him, his mouth still set into a pout.

Holding his chin in your hand you kissed his pout, before pulling away to kiss his cheeks again.

"My quino", you muttered against his cheek and he let out a content sigh, humming in agreement before burying his face into your neck.

Bob Reynolds

One of Bob's most favorite thing about dating you, was that you almost never called him Bobby or Bob. 'Bobby' was a sore spot for him, because his father had tainted it by his demeaning and abusive behavior and 'Bob' was, well, boring, because everyone called him that. You though? You'd rather call him 'Rob', 'Babe(s)' or his personal favorites: 'Honey(bee)' or 'Bear'.

Imagine the confusion and heartbreak he felt, when you had accidentally called him Bob during a late night meeting today.

The entire team had gathered in the conference room of the Watchtower for a group meeting, regarding the next mission that all of you were going to take part in. You had a habit of taking notes, Bob knew this well and he often carried your diary with him, your neat and organised notes helping him massively.

"Bob, could you pass me my diary?", you offhandedly requested him, your attention shifting to the other side as Ava asked you something.

Bob paused, an uncomfortable look crossing over his face before he schooled it and handed you your diary. You whispered a small thank you before jotting down all the important information, your head buried into the diary meanwhile Bob looked at you in longing, his thumb picking at the skin around his pointer finger in nervousness.

Had he done something wrong? Why did you call him Bob? Did he upset you in some way? His brain was working overtime to convince him that he had upset you. That he had done something wrong like he always does. It was agonising to sit through the meeting, his thoughts were spiraling and chest aching, lips turning red from how much he was gnawing on them with his teeth.

Finally the meeting ended an hour later, Bob at his wit's end and the moment it was done, he speed walked to his room, to avoid talking to anyone. He shut the door and sat on the bed in silence, the noise in his head making it physically impossible for him to stand. He wasn't sure what you would do if you came looking for him. Would you get mad? Would he say something that he'll regret later? What if you don't come looking for him, at all? He swallowed his tears with great difficulty and chose to distract the intrusive thoughts by reading a light hearted book.

You on the other hand, were confused. He was sitting right next to you, where did he disappear suddenly?

"Guys, where's Bob?", you asked everyone in confusion. They looked around the room helplessly and seemed to have realised at the same time as you.

"He- he was right here...", Yelena murmured lowly.

"I think I saw him go out...Don't know where", Alexei replied casually, your eyebrows scrunching further. You took their leave and immediately left the room, checking in his favourite reading nook first- he wasn't there. Then you checked in the kitchen, he liked to have tea before sleeping, so you thought he must be preparing that but, no luck. You checked in your room, and he wasn't there either. There was only place left to check, his own room.

You let out a sigh of relief as you opened the door to his room. There was, sitting on the bed with a book in his hands, black sweatpants covered legs outstretched, his maroon sweater making him look extra soft, hands half covered with the oversized sleeves and his curls were shorter now, they fell on his forehead in soft waves, making him look like an angel. The golden hue of the lamp from the sidetable made his profile glow, gentle hands thumbing the pages carefully.

"Honey, I've been looking for you", you announced in a quiet voice, shutting the door behind you just as carefully, not wanting to scare him. He still flinched, glossy blue eyes looking up at you in surprise, as if he couldn't believe you're here. You frowned and sat next to him, your legs folded snugly and body facing his.

"What's wrong? You didn't tell me you were leaving", you asked him softly, a hand coming up to brush his hair back. He licked his lips, eyes observing your face closely. his eyes shining in the low light.

"You're not upset with me?", he asked tentatively, as if he was anticipating a fight.

You frowned harder, "Why would I be upset, babe?"

His eyes widened slightly, swallowing thickly. You watched a light pink blush dust his cheeks and ears.

"I- well. You...you called me Bob today, in the meeting", he managed to blurt out, his deep voice coming out scratchy because of how long he had sat in silence.

"I-I don't understand...", you trailed in deep thought. He thought you were upset because you called him Bob?

He rubbed his eyes with a hand, trying to distract himself from the embarrassment, "You don't call me Bob. You call me Babe. Or-or Honey. I just...I thought you were upset because you didn't say any of those names. So yeah...That's...that's it."

He was red in the face as he finished talking, his fingers fiddling with the book and eyes avoiding yours at any cost. You felt your heart melt. He was so observant with everything you did, it was a blessing yet curse. Curse, because his beautiful mind ended up reaching to conclusions that weren't true in any capacity.

You smiled at him softly, a hand gingerly taking his book and placing it face down on the bed before climbing on his lap, your legs going around his waist and arms circling his neck. He froze before hesitantly wrapping his arms around your back, securing you in his arms and stared at your collarbones instead, a somber look on his face that somehow, made him look softer.

"Honey, I'm so sorry", you cooed earnestly, a hand massaging the curls by the nape of his neck.

"Everyone kept calling you Bob, so I just happened to unknowingly pick it up, and called you that in a flow. I swear, I am not upset with you. I was just distracted. I'm really sorry, babe", you mumbled sincerely, pressing a tender kiss to his pointed nose.

He then looked up at you, his ocean blue eyes staring at you in wonder, face awash with relief and fondness. He buried his face into your neck and brought you closer, nose pressed into the skin and lips brushing against it as he spoke in a meek voice, "No, don't apologise. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that...I'm sorry, (Nickname)", arms wound tightly around your back, curls tickling you lightly.

You smiled lovingly and leaned your head against his, hands smoothing across his broad back, and rocked your bodies side to side.

"It's okay, baby. I got you", you breathed out and kissed his temple, him returning it with a kiss to your neck.

Bucky Barnes

Bucky's first name itself was a nickname, yes. But the nicknames that you gave him were so special to him, that he'd feel like he was missing something if you didn't call him by any one of those.

They had a wide range: you'd call him 'Bucko' if you were feeling clingy, or 'James' if you were feeling particularly romantic and you'd call him 'Babe' or 'Baby' in almost every sentence. You'd call him 'Honey' if he was having a bad day, keeping the tone as sweet as honey to soothe him and he'd melt into a puddle in your arms. There were other silly names that you'd call him to tease him: old man, peepaw and sometimes, baby girl (that one confused him, because he's not a girl??? you told him he wouldn't understand. He sulked, Sam and Joaquin made fun of him.)

He hated how you'd call him 'Barnes' when you were angry. You two rarely argued, but when you did, it would be hurtful because neither of you liked to yell at the other. So it was usually sharp defenses thrown towards each other, or silent treatment.

Bucky hated both, but he hated when you'd call him 'Barnes' in that rough, irritated and solemn voice, even more. He felt like you were his colleague instead of his soulmate, then. He'd feel his chest ache, every single time.

So imagine his shock, when you called him that right now, as he was in the bedroom, picking out clothes for today's Senate meeting while you were in the kitchen.

"Barnes!"

He straightened up, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as well. He felt like a soldier in the barracks again, the way he was standing in attention at your call. He took the time to think about what did he do today, did he do something to piss you off? Did he forget something? He felt a brush against his legs, and he looked down to look at the tiniest, white furred member of the Barnes household.

"D’you know why they’re mad, Alpine?", he murmured to the cat, who stared at him with her sharp blue eyes and meowed, her eyes slowly blinking as if she was saying ‘Yes, dad.’

Bucky sighed and trudged back to the kitchen, his body sulked as he wondered what he did to make you call him by his last name.

There you were, standing by the sink, your arms folded across your chest and eyes instantly looking up as you heard his footsteps. Alpine brushed past him and stood by you elegantly, as if she was chiding him as well.

Bucky stood there nervously, a hand brushing over his stomach, as if calming down his nerves.

“Yes, sweetheart?”, he offered in a croaky voice, extending an olive branch beforehand.

You sighed and Bucky flinched.

You paused. Eyes observing him closely. How did you miss his tensed expression?

Furrowing your brows you walked over to him, “Hey, are you okay?”, your voice soft and careful.

Bucky swallowed before clearing his throat, hand raised to push his hair back.

“You- did I do somethin’ to upset you? I’m sorry if I did, I don’t remember-”, his voice cut off, him inhaling deeply from his nose.

“Whatever it is, I’m sorry. I don’t remember what I did, doll. I’m sorry-”

Your eyes widened. What was he saying? Why was he so anxious?

“Whoa, hey. What’re you saying, Buck? I’m not- you didn’t upset me. What’s happening?”, you replied, your hands coming up to massage his shoulders.

Bucky looked up at you in surprise, “What- but you…”, he gaped at you like a fish.

“But what, babe? You can tell me anything”, you murmured in reassurance.

And suddenly, Bucky felt stupid for assuming the worst. His ears warmed up in embarrassment.

“I-ugh. I thought you were mad at me because you…you called me Barnes”, he winced.

You frowned, “What—”

Bucky sighed, “You call me Barnes when you’re mad at me or when we’re fighting so I thought…”, he shrugged. Your face shifted in understanding and you let out a giggle, hands bracing against his shoulders. He grumbled, squeezing your waist.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I was just-I was annoyed because you put your damn arm in the dishwasher again!”, you let out between giggles, watching as his face slacked in relief and realisation.

“Oh-”, he gave you a sheepish smile and ducked his head shyly. You laughed and squished his cheeks.

“Please find an alternative for the arm, honey. I need that dishwasher, hm?”, you cooed and leaned in to press a kiss to his heated up cheeks. Alpine brushed against your legs, letting out a ‘mrow’ that you took as her agreeing with you.

“See! Even your daughter agrees”, you teased him and bent down to give Alpine a nice scratch. She purred.

Bucky glared at her and murmured, “Traitor”, to which she narrowed her eyes and went back to leaning into your pets again. Bucky looked at his two girls and smiled, happy that he was proven wrong.

Sam Wilson

If there’s one thing that Sam disliked the most, it’s his full name: Samuel. Ever since he was bullied for that in school, he had decided that he’d shorten it, and make ‘Sam’ as his official name instead of Samuel.

He was Sam to all his friends and colleagues, Wilson to his fellow armymen and agents, but he was Sammy to you. Now, you did have different nicknames for him, but something about the way ‘Sammy’ rolled off your tongue, made him feel all giddy and special inside. You’d say it with so much love and affection, a bright smile on your face as you called him, that he’d stop responding to your calls if you tried calling him ‘Sam’.

It began slowly, but with time, you’d realised that he did that on purpose, so that he could hear you call him Sammy instead. It was cute, the way he’d pout and sulk until you called him Sammy. It was all in jest, your relationship was like that. All teasing and giggles and full of inside jokes.

But sometimes, it just slipped from your mind.

And that some time happened to be today, as he came back from a mission, tired and exhausted. He showered, changed into his night clothes and just crashed on the bed face first, you following closely as you shut off all the lights in the house before stepping into the bedroom.

He let out a loud groan into the pillow and you smile in sympathy, sitting down next to him and smoothing a hand across his broad back.

“Long day?”, you asked quietly, the sound of the AC and a distant sound of vehicles driving past, being the only noises to be heard.

Sam inhaled deeply, his back expanding beneath your hands and he begun, “Like you wouldn’t believe. Lost our target because the intel forgot to give us the information on time. Had to run up a damn hill in a civilian area, couldn’t use the wings because we couldn’t blow our cover. That asshole made us run up and down thrice. My damn knees were dead by the second time”, his rough voice was muffled by his arms, head buried in them.

“Aw. I’m sorry, babe. C’mere”, you cooed and beckoned him close, leaning back against the headboard while he lifted his heavy body up, burying his head into your chest, strong arms wrapping around your back.

He nuzzled into your chest and sighed in contentment, “Can you read to me?”

“Of course”, you replied while picking up the book left on your side table, Pride and Prejudice, and begun reading it.

You had made Sam watch the 2005 movie and he was hooked. He thought he was hiding it well, but by the end of the movie, he was wiping his tears discreetly.

Halfway through your narration, you felt him doze off. His breathing was slower and light snores leaving his mouth.

You slowly closed your book, putting it aside and rubbing a hand across his arm.

“Sam? Let’s go to sleep, come on”, you gently coaxed him out of his slumber.

He breathed in deeply before humming, slowly lifting his head away from your chest before he abruptly paused, eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s up?”, you asked him as he laid back down on your chest, his warm embrace and woodsy scent engulfing you.

“What’d you say?”, he mumbled sleepily.

You frowned, “What’d I say..?”

“Go back, rewind a few seconds”, he jested and poked your tummy, tickling you lightly.

You squealed, “Sam! Stop—no!”, twisting around to escape his strong hold.

“Ah, Ah! You did it again!”, Sam was fully awake now, propping himself up on an arm while his free hand kept tickling you.

“Oh g-god! No! Sam, stop it! P-please! What did I do!?”, you stuttered out in between laughs.

“Babe. That’s Sammy or Babe or Baby, for you. Not Sam”, he chided you and stopped tickling, a serious look on his face.

You stopped laughing, clutching your stomach as it cramped. Once you had recovered, your face shifted in understanding, and you let out a tiny gasp.

“Oh! Ohhh…”, you smiled brightly, pinching his chin in your fingers lovingly. He jutted out his bottom lip.

“Now, gimme a proper welcome”, he grumbled and held your wrist in his big hands.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I missed you”, you said softly and cradled his face in your palms instead.

He smiled bashfully then, gaped teeth on display and everything. You joined him, pulling him closer and kissing him lovingly.

“Say it again”, he murmured against your lips.

You giggled, pinching his cheeks, “You are so cute, Sammy.”

He hummed and buried his face in your neck again, hugging you tightly.

“Now, we can sleep”, he mumbled into your neck, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

-

AN: this was a silly idea that was loitering around in my drafts for so long!!! Hope you all enjoyed this <3 might make a part 2 with other characters!